


if you wanna piss off your parents

by ThePlagueBeast



Series: I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Finn Collins Being an Asshole, Friends to Lovers, It's an emotional show burn though, Lovers to Friends, Strangers to Lovers, Supportive!Lexa, angry!Clarke, bad girl lexa, chapter three is not sex, chapter two is sex, good girl clarke, strangers to lovers to friends, strangers to lovers to friends to lovers, they're in this for a good time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 01:42:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21669346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlagueBeast/pseuds/ThePlagueBeast
Summary: Clarke is sick of her mother ignoring her, she's been the perfect child and a stellar teenager and she can't get a moment of her time. So she decides to do the next best thing to actually being a trouble-maker: bang one.orEveryone sucks, Clarke is Angry, Lexa is Sweet, and they fall in love.Originally based on the song 18 by Anarbor, assume it's Lexa's perspective and you'll get a solid concept of the storyline... at least until it went totally off the rails and now I don't even know what's happening here.
Relationships: Clarke Griffin/Lexa
Series: I didn't know I was lonely 'til I saw your face [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1585297
Comments: 202
Kudos: 1170





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Guys I can't stop writing. Send help.

The bar is dingy, poor lighting hiding the stains from decades of spilled beer and greasy food. It smells, musty and damp, old beer and body odor and tobacco. Every surface is slightly sticky, more from the deeply embedded filth than from recent mess. At least it’s not packed. There’s a crowd, but only large enough for one barely-eighteen year old to hide away in. She’s using her cousin’s ID, ‘borrowed’ when she came to visit last week. They look similar enough, and the bartender was more interested in checking the date than checking the photo.

She’s sitting by herself at a high-top table, watching the regulars playing pool, sipping at her stout. It tasted somewhat of coffee and that made it appealing.

She’s on a mission tonight, in her high-waisted jean shorts and white spaghetti strap crop top, a flannel tied around her waist to help with the chill when she’d leave later. Her flipflops are hanging halfway off her feet as she settles her bare heels on the loose bottom rung of her stool. She’d left her long blonde hair down, pink tips brushing against her chest, feeling the need for a little protection from the environment that it brought.

This isn’t the kind of place she expected to see anyone she knew, which was the whole point. She’d already tried everyone she knew, or at least everyone that could potentially fit the bill. Nothing was working. It was time to do something stupid.

And so, here she was, in a dive bar in a bad neighborhood at ten PM, drinking a beer she had no right to, scanning the faces in the crowd for someone who fit the bill.

~*~

Lexa steps into the bar, glancing around to try and find her drinking buddies. They’re not friends, she doesn’t have those, but they drink together regularly and she knows the general ups and downs of their lives. She’s been coming to this bar for a couple years now, when she’s in town. They know her face, even that time she’d showed up black and blue and almost unrecognizable after a fight. She got a lot of free beers that night.

Her gaze pauses on a blonde at a table to the side. She doesn’t belong here. She’s too clean, too clean-cut, and definitely too young. Not that she had a leg to stand on, on coming here too young. But she’d at least looked like she fit in.

She rolls her shoulders, striding over to the bar and retrieving the draft poured the moment she’d walked in. She turns, leaning against the bar, watches the blonde watch the room. She’s looking for something, Lexa notes. A smirk curls her lips as she considers what someone so young and pretty could be looking for here. 

She watches as the blonde is approached by one of her drinking buddies, Quint. He’s a dick, as a general rule. She keeps her eye on the situation.

~*~

“Well don’t you just brighten this place up.”

A large man, too much older than her, sidles up to her table with a brown bottle in hand. He’s bald, with a scruff of a beard, and overall rough around the edges in the wrong way. He looks genuinely dangerous.

Clarke offers him a half-smile and nothing else, drinking from her pint and continuing her perusal of the room.

“Hey, I gave you a compliment. Least you could do is say Hi,” his tone is harder now, eyes narrowed. She glances at him again, catching the edge of anger in his posture, before shifting so she’s facing slightly away from him.

“Hey, I said-” he’s reaching for her arm now, but is blocked by a shoulder as someone leans on the table between them. She’s wearing a classic leather motorcycle jacket and jeans ripped from use, and that’s all Clarke can see with her back turned like it is.

“Quint,” the woman starts, her tone is flat in a way that feels dangerous, “What did we talk about, with the grabbing?” She asks this, like she’s chiding a preschooler who won’t share. “What did we talk about, Quint?”

His gaze shifts to the woman, expression torn between a simmering kind of rage and mild fear. He makes a vague noise of disgust, sneers, then turns and moves to the other side of the bar. Clarke lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. 

The woman watches him leave, then turns so she’s side-on to Clarke and can actually look at her. Clarke’s eyes widen slightly. _She’s perfect._

“Nice rescue. Very smooth. You’ve got the whole ‘tough but chivalrous’ vibe down,” Clarke says with a light smile, quirking a brow.

“You played ‘damsel in distress’ aptly, if understated. I don’t think anyone else even noticed,” her tone is much lighter, almost teasing.

“How did you come to my rescue, then?” She tilts her head to the side, letting her hair fall away from her shoulder, knowing that her overall position will draw the eye down to her assets.

The woman smirks, taking the invitation to look for what it is, and trails her eyes up and down her body slowly. When she finally makes eye contact again her smirk is a little larger. “Oh I already saw you. You don’t exactly blend in here.”

“You do,” she nods to the woman’s worn jacket and jeans and faded T-shirt.

“I’ve been coming here for years. You’re clearly very new if Quint’s only just trying his bullshit,” she tilts her head slightly in the direction he’d run off.

“You know, I know his name, but not my rescuer’s,” she leans an elbow on the table, pressing her chest into the edge.

The woman’s eyes flick down briefly, appreciatively, before bouncing back up. “Lexa.”

“Clarke.”

“Well, Clarke, what are you doing in a dive like this?” Her tone is mildly curious at best.

Clarke leans forward further, just enough to get inside Lexa’s personal space. “Looking for you.”

~*~

Lexa feels her smirk slip into a smile as she moves herself onto the unoccupied stool at the table. “That’s a good line,” she says taking a drink from her pint and eyeing Clarke’s. She hadn’t expected a stout, she’d expected some kind of mix drink, honestly. Something with soda, since that was the sweetest you were likely to get here.

“Is it a line if it’s true?” Clarke challenges, running a finger through the condensation on her glass.

“Me specifically, or the general concept? You were scanning the crowd, but not like you were looking for a face you knew.”

“Top notch observational skills,” Clarke says, leaning back slightly and crossing her legs. Lexa glances down, admiring the long lines. “Conceptually, I was looking for you. You’re exactly my type.”

Lexa quirks a brow at that. This girl, she really is too young to be here, looks like she does cheer, and student council, and has a bedroom full of pastel pinks. From the cut and quality of her clothes, she looks like she goes to the better high school in town. Her phone is the latest model and the chain necklace she has on isn’t some cheap imitation of silver. 

She’s a rich girl. She’s an underage rich girl in a dive bar, looking for someone who looks like Lexa, with her beat up leather jacket and ripped jeans and dirty boots and industrial ear piercings. _This could be fun._

~*~

Clarke focuses on her beer, she can _feel_ Lexa’s eyes all over her, taking her in. She knows how she looks, she wasn’t going to come here playing at being someone she’s not. She’s not a liar.

When her beer is more than half empty she looks up, catches Lexa’s eyes, and smiles. “So? Am I your type?”

Lexa leans forward, much closer than Clarke did earlier. “Yeah, I think you might be. I just have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Are you over eighteen?”

Clarke smirks, leaning close enough to feel Lexa’s breath on her lips. “Yes.”

Lexa keeps their eyes locked, then nods sharply once, and slides a hand to the back of Clarke’s head, pulling her close and capturing her lips in a kiss that tastes like beer. Clarke grabs her wrist with on hand and the open edge of her jacket with the other, pulling her closer. Lexa slips off her stool and moves her free hand to Clarke’s hip, hooking a finger into her front pocket.

Clarke’s knees fall open and Lexa steps between them, still not quite flush, lips still connected. The hand that had been grabbing her jacket slips inside it, fingers exploring the taut abdomen hiding under the soft shirt. Lexa tilts Clarke’s head to the side, moving her mouth down her neck before nipping her way back up. 

She pulls back a bit, lips glistening, “D’you have a car?”

“Yeah, why?” Clarke asks in a bit of a daze.

“I’m not letting you on my motorcycle dressed like that.”

Clarke nudges a bare knee against Lexa’s hip, “I take it you want to get out of here then?”

“I _am_ asking, you can say no,” Lexa assures calmly.

“Oh, no that’s not what I was going to say at all. I was going to ask if you were okay with my place.”

Lexa nods, stepping backwards and holding out a hand to help Clarke from the stool. She releases it, then moves her hand to her lower back, keeping her tucked in close as they walk out of the bar. Clarke finds the gesture protectively charming.

_Yeah. She’s perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here ya'll I drew them flirting.](https://theplaguebeast.tumblr.com/post/189488196378/i-drew-this-for-my-own-damn-fic-theres-supposed)


	2. There's Sin In Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guys. Guys. I didn't start this out meaning to write 2k of them getting it on. But here we are. They just wouldn't let me stop. This entire chapter is a sex scene. You're welcome.

The first thing Lexa notices about Clarke’s room is that is, in fact, not pink. There’s not a trace of it to be seen outside of the laundry hamper. It’s actually done up in shades of light blue, with warm wooden furnishings. The second thing she notices is that it’s a huge room, clearly having been two rooms at one point, with the dividing wall knocked down. One half is a traditional bedroom and the other looks like an art studio.

It’s controlled chaos, it’s not messy or dirty, there’s no clothes on the floor or trash or food left around, but there’s clearly no attempt to organize things in any rational way. Bits from the art studio side of the room spill over into the bedroom and there’s paint drips all over the hardwood.

The third thing she notices is the king-size four poster bed, complete with gauzy drapes. It looks beyond inviting, especially with Clarke pulling her along, stepping backwards towards it with a quirked eyebrow and hooded eyes.

“That’s a bed fit for a Princess,” Lexa comments, shrugging out of her jacket and letting it fall to the floor. She catches how Clarke’s eyes shoot to her newly visible tattoos, sees her lick her lips in response.

Clarke says nothing, kicking her flipflops off to the side before pulling Lexa closer, lips seeking her jawline. Lexa finds her hands moving, sliding around her waist, one slipping up under the edge of her shirt. Her fingers toy with the band of the bra strap she finds and she feels goosebumps under her palm.

She pulls back for a moment, just long enough to yank the knots on her boots open, kicking them off as she steps back towards Clarke. Her hands return to their previous adventures and Clarke’s slide up the inside of her T-shirt’s sleeves, scratching lightly at her biceps. A shiver crawls down her spine.

Clarke’s lips are on her neck again, roving up and down, pausing at the bottom to nip along her collarbones. Lexa finds her head tipping back slightly, granting freer access. One of Clarke’s hands moves to grab the long fall of her hair and pull it over the shoulder opposite her attentions and, once fully cleared, she _bites_.

~*~

The moan Lexa releases sends a wash of tingles through her body. She can feel her fingers on her back start going for the clasp of her bra. She starts stepping backwards again, almost pulling Lexa along with her lips.

Just when she’s about to bump into the bed, she turns them, trapping Lexa between herself and the mattress. Her attentions shift, she slides her thumbs under the edge of her T-shirt and waits for the slight nod before sliding them up along her sides, dragging the shirt up, and hooking under the edge of Lexa’s sports bra in the process.

The surprise on her face when Lexa finds herself completely topless a moment later is almost enough to make Clarke laugh. Instead she smirks, flinging the clothing to the side, and dives forward to nip and suck and kiss at all the newly cleared real estate. 

She pushes Lexa onto the bed in the process, climbing up into her lap, her nails finding her abs, _abs_ and raking down them, dipping just under her waistband before sliding back up and cupping her breasts.

~*~

Lexa realizes, suddenly, that she’s horribly underestimated this girl. Perhaps she’d just been cocky, because nothing in particular should’ve given her the idea that this pretty, soft girl was a pillow princess. In fact, she should’ve been prepared for this based on how she behaved at the bar. Really, she must be losing her touch.

She growls lightly at the idea, finally regaining some of her composure that was stolen with the bite. Her hands grip onto the hips of the girl above her, squeezing slightly, before she pulls a similar disrobing move and gets Clarke’s shirt and unclasped bra off in one motion.

All composure she’d gotten back flees at the sight of the topless blonde seated firmly in her lap. Clarke pulls back just enough to give Lexa a truly wonderful view. Lexa groans low in her throat before surging forward and stealing her lower lip with her teeth.

Clarke’s hands shift from her chest to the back of her head, holding her close and tight while their mouths match rhythm, tongues sliding back and forth, teeth catching lips. Lexa’s hands move from her hips, sliding along her sides, before reaching the soft breasts just barely pressing up against her.

She feels Clarke start to shift in her lap, not quite a grind, but as though her hips simply refuse to stay still. She parts their mouths with a parting tug to her lower lip, diving down to her neck, leaving hot, wet kisses along the column of her throat. One hand slips around to her lower back and her lips and teeth and tongue find the abandoned breast.

The effect is immediate and deeply encouraging. Clarke’s hips jerk downwards and her back arches, eyes close tight for the first time this evening. The hand on her lower back slides down to grip at her ass, she’d have tried to slide into her shorts but they were too tight. They really should be gone.

She switches attentions to the other breast, the newly freed hand sliding down to hook a finger in her waistband. Clarke shifts slightly so there’s more room to work, gives an affirmative sort of noise, and Lexa takes that as permission to unsnap the button and tug the zipper.

Clarke grabs the sides of her face, pulling her up to meet her mouth, hot and wet. She manages, somehow, to topple them sideways and, without parting their mouths, shimmies out of her shorts. 

The moment they hit the floor her hands are toying with the button on Lexa’s jeans for a moment before popping it open. Lexa’s hips lifted immediately and her legs flailed to kick them off. Lexa’s hands find Clarke’s waist and pull her in close, finally flush, legs tangling together and breasts pressing tight.

They both moan at the sensation of skin-on-skin, Clarke’s hands reaching around to grip at Lexa’s ass with a level of desperation neither of them anticipated.

~*~

Clarke can feel her heart start hammering in her chest. She hadn’t expected her body to respond this well. Sure, Lexa was hot, that was blatantly obvious the first moment she saw her face, but her whole body was taut and lean and _fucking fantastic_ and it was doing things to her she wasn’t able to cope with.

From the corner of her eye she could see ink spiraling up and down her arms and shoulders and she felt the urge to discover every single tattoo. She made a mental note to tackle that later, there were more important things to focus on right now. Things like Lexa’s lips travelling down her neck, Lexa’s hands travelling up the insides of her thighs, Lexa’s body pressing down onto her own.

She gripped her ass tighter, pulling her hips closer, a breathy moan escaping as her head fell backwards. She feels fingers flick under the elastic of her panties, snapping it lightly, tugging, asking. She lifts her hips in invitation and it is readily accepted, not a moment before she’s fully bare and panting slightly.

Lexa’s hands start at her knees, and her mouth starts at her neck, and they work slowly towards each other mapping every bit of skin until they meet somewhere in the middle and all Clarke can do is fist her sheets and press her head backwards while soft ‘oh’s escape her mouth.

Lexa’s fingers are long and delicate, she’d noticed this earlier but she didn’t appreciate it until now, with their precise tips exploring intimate spaces and drawing sounds from her that she hadn’t expected. She can feel her hips canting and rolling, entirely outside of her control. There’s a tongue involved, lips, a hint of teeth. She can’t breathe.

One hand slides up, not otherwise occupied, catches one of her hands and pulls her grip free from the sheets, offers itself for the tight hold instead. She takes it gratefully, something loosening in her chest, a flush rising as she starts to sweat. 

Her hips are still rolling. Lexa is a fucking machine. An artist. She’s playing Clarke like no one ever has. She can feel it building, something white hot and indescribably tense, her noises get louder, her free hand leaves the bed to grip her hair. Her back arches, hips lifting off the mattress but still rolling and bucking and she shouts.

She stays, suspended, hips still jerking, for a long moment, before crashing back down loose and boneless, all the tension in her muscles dropping away so suddenly she feels made of lead. Her breathing is still short, she struggles to take a deeper gulp of air, her hand swipes across her brow.

“Holy shit,” it’s a raspy, breathy gasp and the first thing she’s said since they got inside. Lexa is still licking, slowly, gently, and moving her way back up. She looks like a jungle cat, all lean muscle and dark eyes.

As soon as she’s in range Clarke reaches out, grabs her by the back of her head, pulls her in for a searing kiss. An attempt to say ‘give me a minute, you’ll get yours’. She thinks Lexa understand. They relax together, Clarke catching her breath. She goes to shift, to roll them, and moans when she realizes _Lexa’s fingers are still inside her_.

She makes no attempt to remove them, keeping the arm trapped between them, sliding her own still-free hand down to find the matching space between Lexa’s thighs. She hears, feels, her breath hitch when she finds it. Feels her own hitch when Lexa responds by deliberately grinding.

She’s still on top, and inside, and shifts them around slightly so hands are trapped by thighs and after a moment of careful positioning they’re both rocking into each other, rolling and grinding, mouths moving over lips and jaws and necks.

They’re a writhing mass on the bed, undulating, hips and chests and mouths and thighs, skin slick with sweat between them. Breaths are short, their clasped hands gripping each other tight. She thinks Lexa’s close, she knows she is. There’s a fluttering in the slickness and she presses her thigh up harder, curls her fingers.

Lexa tenses, her back arching and pressing their chests together even more tightly, her hips stuttering. The change in motion is just what she needs, her hips rising to press into the woman above her. They lock for a long moment, trapped and tangled together as their peaks wash over them.

Clarke relaxes first, boneless again, hips twitching as aftershocks roll through her. Lexa takes a moment longer before suddenly collapsing, deviating her downward fall only slightly so she doesn’t land directly on Clarke.

They’re panting, the air around them, between them, humid. The sweat starts to cool on their skin, drying in little prickly patches. They’re still tangled, still inside, neither quite able to find the will to move.

~*~

“Holy shit,” Lexa echoes the earlier statement, her voice surprisingly clear for how dry her throat feels. Slowly, she slides her legs free, slips her hand out from between Clarke’s thighs, enjoying the shudder that goes through the girl’s body at the action.

Clarke reciprocates, tingles shooting from her sensitive flesh. They lay next to each other a while longer, Lexa’s mind blissfully blank for a time. She feels eyes on her, knows Clarke is staring, but can’t quite bring herself to look over and get a read on her emotions. That would require thinking, she doesn’t want to think just yet.

“Stay the night?” Clarke’s raspy voice shocks her mind back into functioning and she finally glances over, catches her eyes, and her mind is stalled again at the look she’s given. She thinks it’s somewhere between sleepy, sated lust, and some kind of affection. She looks away.

“If there’s more of that on the table, hell yes,” she finally replies, a slightly cocky but mostly satisfied smirk on her lips. She feels Clarke weakly backhand her shoulder in reprimand, she chuckles. “I’m not sure I can stand anyways,” she admits.

From the corner of her eye she can see the smug grin stretch over Clarke’s face. She’ll allow it, she earned it.

Suddenly, Clarke sits up. “I’m going to get some water, want some?” At the responding nod, she stands, grabs a flannel robe from the back of her door, wraps it carefully around herself, and leaves the room.

Lexa stares up at the ceiling, thinking, _She’s fucking perfect_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally never written anything this sexual before. Don't expect me to write anything more explicit, that's just not how I roll. Sensations, moments, that's what I'm about when it comes to writing the sin stuff. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> And for the record, the whole thing was supposed to convey their relationship dynamics going forward. At least that part stayed true. Use that information how you will.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one doesn't have sex. Also, Abby sucks.

Clarke was just stepping out of the kitchen, a couple bottles of water in her hands, cold from the fridge, when her mother’s voice reached her.

“Clarke, who was your friend?”

Clarke’s eyes snapped to her mother, perched on the couch, a stack of paperwork on the coffee table. She waited until her mother looked up, then deliberately looked down at herself, her robe clearly showing nothing was on underneath, then to the bottles in her hands, and she would’ve looked at her own obviously sex-mussed hair if she could but that would have to draw attention on its own. 

She looked back to her mother who’d just finished following along and said simply, “She’s not a friend,” before turning to head back upstairs. She heard a slightly offended noise escape from behind her, turned on the middle step to catch her eye again. “Problem?”

“You can’t just bring back anyone you want to this house.” It’s said sternly, like she has a leg to stand on there, and it makes Clarke scoff.

“Really? You’re going there? _You_ are going to dictate who I fuck?” She’s being crude, she knows she is, that’s the point. That’s the whole fucking point of it all. The silence that follows speaks volumes and she goes back to climbing the stairs without another word.

~*~

Lexa is sat up against the headboard, eyes closed and relaxed, when she hears the door open. She sees Clarke shoulder her way in, and catches the bottle the girl throws her way, cracking it open and guzzling down half before she notices the crease between the blonde’s brows and the disgruntled downturn to her lips.

“What’s up?” She finally asks, knocking down the silence that was trying to build between them.

Clarke’s head shoots up, brow creasing further. She looks conflicted for a brief moment before she shrugs and undoes the belt of her robe, letting it fall to the floor. “My mother’s home,” and that’s all she says, climbing onto the bed and quickly straddling Lexa’s hips.

“I see,” she doesn’t. She’s got no idea what the dynamic here is, just that Clarke is clearly upset, yet not at all bothered at the idea of her mother being around while they continue their previous activity. “There an issue with me being here?” She finally asks, setting her open bottle on the night stand before sliding her hands up the thick thighs bracketing her own.

“If you asked her, yes,” she nods, throwing her arms over Lexa’s shoulders and leaning forward to start nipping and sucking at her neck.

“I’m not going to wake up to a gun in my face, am I?” She’d really rather avoid that situation, once in her life was enough. Despite her sudden trepidation with the situation, she finds her head tilting to give Clarke more access to her skin.

“No. She’s too passive-aggressive for that,” she mumbles against her skin, her soft actions belied by the bite in her tone.

“Am I revenge for something?” She’s not sure where all these questions are coming from, she just knows that Clarke looks upset and that it bothers her to see the pretty girl like that.

“Would that be a problem?” Clarke asks, leaning back to look her in the eyes. Her gaze is sharp, she’s clearly angry, but not at her.

Lexa considers it for a few moments, thumbs tracing idle circles on the skin beneath them. She’s not sure why, but the urge to make a deal crawls up inside her throat until she can’t help but offer, “Want to make it a regular event?”

She knows she’s said the right thing when the crease leaves Clarke’s forehead and her mouth curls into a wicked grin. “Abso-fucking-lutely,” she says firmly, leaning back in to capture her lips while her hips start to roll and Lexa can’t help herself when she thinks that maybe this summer is going to be better than she’d anticipated.

~~~~~~

A week later and they’re on the couch, the room is dark save for the flickering of the TV, a movie, as intended, long forgotten. Lexa wasn’t sure she’d be able to tell you what they’d even put on, it was just there for background noise after all. 

She wasn’t paying it any mind, far too busy with her hands crawling up the inside of Clarke’s shirt, skimming up and down, occasionally squeezing her hips as they slowly rolled in her lap. Clarke’s hands were similarly engaged, and her mouth was moving along her neck, hot and wet and with teeth.

She heard the front door open, Clarke clearly heard it too, but the girl then just as clearly ignored it, focusing all her attention on the woman beneath her. Lexa found her hands slipping around to squeeze at her ass, pulling her closer.

That was the position Clarke’s mother walked in on. Her daughter grinding in some woman’s lap, shirt halfway up her body, hands on her ass. Lexa made the mistake of opening her eyes, caught the mother’s stone cold stare for a moment, before her head fell back and an unstoppable moan escaped her lips.

The click of heels was the only sign of departure and Clarke only seemed to acknowledge it by doing her best to draw another, louder, noise from Lexa.

Lexa was not complaining.

~~~~~~

“I haven’t seen much of you this week.”

Abby’s unspoken question hung in the air between them. The dining table between them seemed to grow in distance as the lack of response deepened the silence. The only sounds the polite scraping of forks and knives against plates as the two of them pretended to be civil long enough for a weekly dinner.

“Well, aside from that woman groping you on my couch,” she finally muttered into the oppressive atmosphere. 

“For the record,” Clarke paused to swallow, take a sip of water, and spear a piece of roast with her fork, “I was groping her.”

Abby’s response was a disgruntled noise low in her throat followed by a long drink of her wine. Clarke kept her eyes towards her plate, knowing, _knowing_ , that if she looked up and caught the irritated look in her mother’s eyes, she would just fucking explode. Her temper had never been the most controlled but lately, with her mother, and everything, it had just been so much worse.

“Why are you acting like this?” Abby finally asked, exhausted and angry and not looking at her daughter.

Clarke froze, closed her eyes, bit her tongue, counted out her breaths like that one blog suggested for anger and anxiety. She rolled her shoulders, brushed her hair back out of her face, planted her feet more firmly under the table to feel more grounded. She let out a long, shaky exhale, and returned to eating like the question had never been asked.

“Answer me!” Abby snapped, finally, _finally_ , looking up at her daughter who still refused to move her own eyes from her plate.

Clarke stood abruptly, the action already primed. She set her fork down carefully, finished the water in her glass, and left the room, hearing her mother’s sigh echo behind her.

~*~

Lexa hadn’t quite expected the evening to go like this, not when she’d gotten Clarke’s curt text requesting to pick her up at ten PM in the middle of the week. And yet, here she was, watching her play up her blonde hair and innocent blue eyes to absolutely shark the pool tables. 

She practically bounced around, clearly knowing the effect the extra movement had on her body, and clearly using it to her advantage against the regulars who, for some reason, kept underestimating her. It was extremely entertaining.

Lexa sipped her beer and rolled the girl’s attitude around in her head. She’d spent a fair amount of time contemplating the girl since that first night. It was clear she was going through some kind of bullshit at home, the few times she’d seen her and her mother in the same room had tension so thick it was suffocating.

It was clear that she’d decided to abandon her absolutely brazen attempts to goad her mother into _whatever_ confrontation she was angling for. They’d gone from spending almost all their time together at the girl’s house, to them being out until early hours, only then going to her place to finish off the night.

It was fun, at least. Clarke was fun. She was cute, pretty even, funny, and confident. She wasn’t naive, like Lexa had initially suspected, that seems to be a cultivated aesthetic. Blonde hair with pink tips, bright blue eyes, crazy curves in all the right places. She looked like an innocent airhead at first glance, and she knew how to play it up.

In fact, she’d just arrived back at their table with the pint she’d won off the man now staring at the table as though it had personally offended him. Clarke sat down with an exaggerated flounce, deliberately bringing Lexa’s attention from her internal contemplation over to the really fucking nice chest bouncing in front of her. 

“Thank you,” Clarke said, after taking a gulp of her beer, “For picking me up and just… hanging.”

Lexa shrugged, “It’s been entertaining, I don’t know why everyone has to personally prove that you’re better at pool than they are, but it really is fun to watch.”

“Right?” She flashed a bright grin, glancing at the pool tables that had refilled with the men she’d thoroughly destroyed. “They’re so cocky!”

“Admit it, you play yourself up to the blonde stereotype. You’ve been baiting them all night,” Lexa accused gently, a smile curling the edges of her lips.

“Oh, absolutely.” The look Clarke shot her was sharp, almost predatory. The sudden shift from the persona she’d been playing at all night, to the clever and seductive one Lexa had become familiar with was almost jarring.

Lexa blinked for a moment, trying to reconcile the two aspects in her head. Clarke was very good at playing a role, it was obvious, and she couldn’t help but wonder how much genuine _Clarke_ she’d actually experienced so far. 

It didn’t particularly _matter_ to her, that wasn’t what they were about, but she was curious nonetheless. Deciding, finally, to try and dig a little past the facade that had been erected, she asked the question that had been on the tip of her tongue half the night. 

“So why did you want to get the hell outta home so bad all of a sudden? You usually give me more head’s up.”

Clarke paused, eyes shifting down to the table in front of her but not really looking at it. She picked at the table’s surface, nail catching on some kind of spill that had been there so long it had practically merged with the table. Her brow furrowed and she slumped ever so slightly in her seat.

“My mother,” she finally said. A long pause. “She’s impossible,” another stretching silence, “I just can’t be around her. Not tonight.”

Another long silence followed, Lexa not finding it awkward to allow Clarke the time to gather her thoughts and continue the conversation, or change topic, as she chose. Finally, shaking her head, Clarke looked back up. There was an almost pleading look to her eyes when she asked, “Can we go to your place tonight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? I'm really enjoying trying to say a lot without saying a lot with this one and being moody and shit. I'd like to know what y'all are thinking about it.
> 
> Also I'm really enjoying writing Unapologetic!Clarke.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's place, Abby sucks some more, Clarke is angry, Lexa is sweet

Clarke throws off the leather jacket she’d bought specifically so that Lexa would be willing to take her on her bike, it lands haphazardly on a dining chair. Lexa steps in behind her, taking off her own jacket in a more controlled manner, draping it on the back of another mismatched chair. 

Clarke looks around the small apartment. It’s tidy, but worn, the carpet is threadbare and the linoleum in the kitchen area is stained and the pattern faded. The furniture looks like it was all picked up from the side of the road, but then deep-cleaned. There’s two doors along one wall, the bathroom door is open, the other is mostly closed. 

None of the furniture goes together and the walls are bare. The only lights are the built-in overheads. But it’s clean, and it’s actually private. It’s the first time she’s _truly_ been alone with Lexa, she realizes. Before now there was, in the back of her mind, an awareness of her mother’s presence. But she’s not here, and Clarke _asked for that_ which she finds even more surprising.

She’s properly alone with Lexa. She didn’t even drive herself. Some part of her feels like it should be concerned, she doesn’t _really_ know this woman. They’ve been intimate, sure, and she’s been respectful, but there’s a vague sense of being trapped without her own vehicle. She could get an Uber, call a friend, sure, but she can’t remember ever actually going over to someone’s house without having her own ride.

The idea unnerves her slightly so she distracts herself by watching Lexa move around the tiny space, pulling out glasses with brewery labels and pouring them some filtered water from the fridge. 

“Didn’t expect you to be a filtered water kind of person,” Clarke says as she takes the offered glass.

“Oh, I’m not normally, I just don’t trust these pipes. Honestly I shower at the gym more than I do here.” She casts a dubious glance towards the sink. “It’s just for the summer, though, so I deal.”

Clarke nods, tossing herself onto the couch and enjoying the way the cushions immediately try to swallow her whole. Her eye catches the consoles under the TV. “You game?” she asks, tilting her head towards them.

“Uh, yeah. Probably too much, without classes to deal with. Mainly with my brother,” she adds absently, settling down beside Clarke and taking a long drink from her own glass.

“Older or younger?” Clarke turns to face Lexa, pulling a leg up onto the couch. She hasn’t actually asked her many personal questions, that wasn’t the point, but as she finds herself in her space and on her couch she can’t help but wonder a little bit more about this woman she’s found herself in the company of.

“Younger, freshman- well, sophomore now. He goes to your school, actually,” at Clarke’s tilted head and raised brow she elaborates, “I saw your school sweater. Actually, that reminds me, are you a senior this year or-”

“I graduated,” Clarke says with an amused smirk. “Don’t worry, you’re not fucking a high schooler.”

It’s clear Lexa has no idea how much she visibly relaxed at that statement, because she nods nonchalantly and simply says, “I wasn’t worried. Hey, y’know you might’ve actually met my brother. He was always talking about hanging out in the art room.”

Clarke shrugged, it was possible, she basically lived there after school last year, it was easier than being home for sure. “Your brother got a name?” she teases.

Lexa glowers, belied by the tiny uptick to her lips, “Aden. Little shorter than me, blonde, _chipper_ ,” she adds the last like that’s something to be ashamed of.

Clarke’s eyes light up, “Oh yeah! I know him. We didn’t really talk but he’d hang out with me after school. He was good company. I’d have no idea you guys were related.”

“Are you saying I’m poor company?” Lexa challenges, setting her glass down.

“Oh no, I said he was _good_ company. You,” she adds her glass to the beat up coffee table, hooks her fingers in the collar of Lexa’s shirt, “You are _great_ company,” she pulls her in close and shuts up her chuckles with a kiss.

~*~

Lexa looks down at the tousled blonde hair covering her chest. She can barely make out Clarke’s face, just the curve of her cheek and the dimple of her chin. This isn’t the first time she’s woken like this, with the girl sprawled across her, legs tangled up, but it’s the first time she’s woken up to a girl, any girl, in her own bed.

She’s not sure how she feels about that.

It wasn’t that she was cold or that she lacked for companions, she just valued her privacy. But when Clarke had asked her last night with those big blue eyes, asked if they could go to her place, asked if she could stay the night, she found herself unwilling to say no.

_It was the right call_ , she thinks, watching Clarke’s head rise and fall with the movement of her own chest. She reaches out, runs her fingers through blonde hair, tucks it back and uncovers her face. She finds herself, again, wondering what it is about this girl that’s got her ignoring so much of what she’s learned over the years about how to keep things _casual and easy_. 

The thought strikes her, then, that if things continue like this they _won’t_ be staying that way for long. She can’t find it in herself to care.

~*~

Clarke wakes slowly to the feeling of fingers in her hair. She’s not in her bed, which is new. She’s never stayed the night after sex, preferring to return to her own bed and avoid the Morning After entirely.

But this doesn’t feel like a Morning After, with Lexa’s fingers in her hair and her arm wrapped loosely around her shoulders and their legs so tangled she’s not entirely sure if that’s her own knee pressing into her leg.

She hums quietly, shifting her arms to wake them up and inadvertently giving Lexa light squeeze. “Morning,” she mumbles, cautious of morning breath.

“Morning,” Lexa replies, scritching a little against her scalp. She melts slightly at the attention.

There’s a twisted kind of apprehension curling in her stomach the longer she lies awake. She feels safe, and she can’t for the life of her figure out why. She hasn’t felt safe like this since the last time her Dad was home and that was almost six months ago. She certainly hasn’t felt anything close to this with her ex-boyfriend or any of her partners since him. Her friends didn’t even tick on the radar.

She feels Lexa’s hand move, and then a thumb rub between her eyebrows and smooth the crease she didn’t realize had formed. “What’s got you thinking so hard?” Lexa asks, voice still raspy from sleep.

“Realizing that you’re probably my favorite person in my life right now,” she says, forcing a lightness to her tone that she really doesn’t feel. The realization _fucking sucks_ , that this woman she barely knows, who barely knows her, is still the best thing going on in her life. Everything else feels like it’s burning down, and everyone else is at best standing on the sidelines commenting on the flames.

~*~

Lexa feels her breath catch in her throat at the confession, she powers through it, striving for a relaxed response. Her hand returns to running through hair before trailing down the back of Clarke’s head and settling at the nape of her neck to massage it lightly.

“That- I mean… Really?” The bewildered tone to her voice is almost painfully obvious and she knows it’s the single most sincere moment she’s had towards Clarke since they’ve met.

Clarke nods slightly, the muscles under her fingers relaxing at her touch, “Well, it’d be my Dad, but he’s out of the country for another two months. Other than that…” she trailed off, shrugs, tips her face down to hide her expression.

“Like, I kinda got that you and your mom don’t get on but… I’ve met you, surely you’ve got friends..?” Again with a genuine amount of confusion and Lexa is mentally slapping herself. It’s too fucking early for her to be talking to Clarke about anything, they don’t normally talk at all in the mornings. 

“I thought I had friends,” it’s not said with anger or malice or sorrow but a sort of strangely light resignation and Lexa pulls Clarke a little tighter for it.

The moment is broken when the sound of Clarke’s phone, still in her jeans pocket and somewhere on the floor in the living room, rings out.

“Shit, that’s my mom,” she grumbles, peeling herself away and sliding out of bed, pressing a quick kiss to Lexa’s lips before striding out into the other room fully nude.

~*~

“Clarke, _where are you_?”

Clarke rolls her eyes, her mother’s tone doesn’t even convey faux concern, just anger at not being able to keep tabs on her 24/7. She leans against the back of the couch and considers precisely the best way to tell her mother to fuck off.

“I’m out,” she finally decides on. The classic move of giving the least information possible.

“Out _where_? Out with _who_?”

“Out. With Lexa,” who pops her head out of her bedroom, holding up a T-shirt and offering it to Clarke who nods, accepts it when tossed and pulls it on while Lexa comes out in her own shirt and underwear.

“Lexa? That woman you’ve been… _seeing_?” The disdain is so thick she could choke on it.

“Lexa, who I’ve been fucking, yes.” She glances at the mentioned woman and almosts bursts out laughing at the startled shock on her face. She realizes belatedly that Lexa hadn’t actually heard her speak to her mother before. It’s certainly not the typical tone for that kind of conversation.

“I wish you wouldn’t be so crude.”

“I wish a lot of things too, Mother. Is there any particular reason you’ve called or do you just want to remind me that you exist?” Her tone has gone cold and her face has gone hard and she knows it’s an abrupt change from the concerned glance Lexa shoots her while she starts up the coffee.

“We’re having dinner with the Blakes tonight. They’re expecting you.”

“Oh like hell they are. No one is expecting me anywhere with you.” There’s a little more fire in her tone, a little more anger in her eyes and she knows her lip is starting to curl. She feels Lexa place a hand on her shoulder and relaxes minutely.

“I’ve told them you’re coming. They’re expecting you. You _will_ be there.”

Clarke laughs darkly, looking up at the ceiling like the emptiness there could suck out everything she’s feeling. “You really don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. You know that.”

And finally there’s silence on the other end of the line, she knows it’s not dead, she can hear the faint hum of static and breath and her mother always says goodbye no matter what. But there’s silence and _fuck_ if that’s not something.

“I won’t be there. You get to apologize for making promises on my behalf. You don’t get to tell them I bailed. You tell them I had other plans and you _didn’t fucking ask me_ to attend, because you didn’t.”

“What will Bellamy think?” Her mother finally tries, and it’s really a desperate last ditch effort.

“I really don’t give a fuck what Bellamy thinks. Goodbye Mother.” She waits just long enough to hear the answering ‘goodbye’ before ending the call and letting out a frustrated snarl.

Lexa approaches with a mug of fresh coffee held out like a peace offering, head tilted slightly and eyebrow up in gentle curiosity. “You _really_ don’t get on with your mother, huh?”

Clarke shrugs, rolls her shoulders to relieve the tension, and takes the coffee. There’s a hint of sugar in it, just enough to cut the bitterness, and it’s pretty much perfectly suited for her mood at the minute. “We’re supposed to have an understanding but she continues to push me. So, I push back.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard someone tell their own mother ‘go fuck yourself’ quite like that. Helluva push back.”

Clarke quirks an eyebrow, assessing Lexa’s demeanour. She’s relaxed, doesn’t look like she’s judging, just commenting. And, she realizes after a moment, offering support. It hits her then, that’s what all of her friends skipped out on. They stayed out of the firing line, sure, she wouldn’t begrudge them that, but they stayed so far out of everything that they left Clarke to try and deal with it _all_ on her own.

“She earned it,” she finally says, glancing away, then down at her coffee, “She fucked up, so fucking bad, and she’s lucky I still speak to her at all. And she won’t stop _fucking pushing_.” She has no idea what it is about today, this morning, last night, this week, whatever, but she’s already told Lexa more than she ever planned to even after they’d spent more than one night together.

Lexa nods, sips her coffee, and rounds the couch to settle on the cushions. “She sounds like a bitch.”

~*~

The bark of laughter that follows that statement is exactly what Lexa was hoping to hear and she smiles as Clarke follows her to settle on the couch. “Hey did I mention to you I’ve actually almost met her?”

“What, when, how?” Clarke looks equal parts confused and excited.

“When we were on the couch, and she came home? She walked in on us. You were in my lap. I opened my eyes and she was just fucking staring. I think it kinda broke her for a moment.” Lexa’s grinning now, matching Clarke’s, enjoying her ability to bring the girl’s mood up.

“Oh my god, did you make eye contact?”

“Yeah, for like a second, then you bit my neck you little shit and, well you know what happens then.” Lexa mock-glared and Clarke burst out laughing and Lexa thought, _I could get used to that sound._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo there's something really cathartic about writing a character who gets angry and lets people know it, bc that is so not me.
> 
> How are y'all liking this btw? Lexa is finally feeling less passive from my perspective but I'd like to know what y'all are thinking on that too. How's Angry!Clarke? Any theories on what Abby did? Please, I'm loving the comments!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia sucks, Clarke moves in

“Bitch, where have you _been_? I haven’t heard shit from you in weeks, and like I wasn’t expecting you to show up for dinner considering your Mom was the one who said you’d be there but what the fuck? Whose dick is so good you just ditched me?”

Clarke pulled the phone away from her ear to scowl at it. It wasn’t that she was avoiding anyone, no one had reached out to her since school ended. Graduation had come and gone and her friends had all gone on vacations or staycations or just… did their own thing. So she’d gone and done _her_ own thing. And now she was being berated for not always, fucking _always_ , being the one to maintain things?

So she scowled at her phone, rolled her eyes, bit back the bitchy remarks she wanted to throw out. Octavia was her friend, she wanted her friends back, damnit. She fucking missed them, even when they were assholes who called her just to curse at her.

“O you’ve been out of the state for the last two weeks, it’s not my fault you were too busy to text. I sent like ten messages the first couple days,” she finally says once her temper’s under control.

“I’ve been back for like three days, Clarke!”

“Cool, who was supposed to tell _me_ that?”

Silence, not a guilty silence because Octavia never felt guilty for anything she did, and normally that was something Clarke loved about her but right now she really just wanted a fucking apology from someone in her life.

“Whatever, when are we gonna hang out?” 

Clarke scowls again, squeezes her eyes, grits her teeth, counts her breaths. “I don’t know, I’m kinda busy.”

“Okay seriously, dish, whose dick?” Octavia demands, like she has a right to the information, like they’re still close like before, and Clarke can’t help it, she just can’t fucking help it. It’s too much, to just skip over even acknowledging that _shit’s fucking different now_. That too much has changed for Clarke, that she’s been put in a situation that _fucking sucks_ and she just, she just can’t handle it.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business Octavia,” and she knows her tone is cold and that she’s really not doing anything to repair her friendships but _goddamnit_ she’s so tired of being the one to _fix things_ all the time and she just wants _one of them_ to hold their hand out first.

“Must not be very good if you’re being this bitchy,” she can hear the curled lip, knows she’s going to snap, and she just _doesn’t fucking care anymore_.

Clarke laughs, and it’s bitter and resigned and she just, just fucking laughs. “God you’re so fucking _fake_!” she exclaims into the phone, “God you really only care about yourself and fucking gossip, don’t you? You’re just so goddamn _shallow_! Fuck, if you’re not going to even pretend to give a shit just lose my fucking number. Whatever. Bye.” And she ends the call before she has to hear another word from her mouth.

She looks over at Lexa, Lexa who’s been studiously ignoring the conversation at the other end of her couch, focusing very deliberately on the video game on the TV. When Clarke lets out a sigh, somewhere between defeated and destroyed, she glances over.

“Does everyone in your life suck this bad?” And it’s not asked with malice but with a genuine curiosity and a touch of empathy.

Clarke shrugs, “Not everyone. Not you.”

She thinks she catches the tips of Lexa’s ears grow pink at that and it amuses her that after everything they’ve done, the idea of being the one person in her life that doesn’t make her want to rip her own hair out in frustration makes her _blush_ is just too fucking cute.

“Want me to swap to multiplayer?”

“Hell yes.”

~~~~~~

Lexa really can’t pinpoint when the transition happened, that swap from being fuck buddies to an actual kind of friend, but she finds that less of their time together is spent with their mouths actively engaged on the other’s body and more with conversation and video games and bar games and just… relaxing.

It’s not that she minds, Clarke is funny, she’s sweet, she’s smart, and she takes absolutely no shit. And it’s getting really fucking clear that if she wasn’t around Clarke would probably never smile, and that’s a thought that makes something sour in her stomach.

Clarke is just too nice, and genuine, and just good, to have no one in her corner during _whatever the fuck_ happened to make her so angry with everyone she’d already known. Everyone except her Dad, apparently, but he was still out of the country and Clarke clearly didn’t get to speak with him often if at all.

She’s not sure which aspect of the situation makes the offer creep into her mind, hell it could be her own loneliness, something she hadn’t even realized was a factor until Clarke started hanging around more, but now the idea is there and it won’t leave. So she purses her lips, bites her lower lip, shuffles around a bit so that Clarke is tucked a little more securely in her arms. She’s about to, probably, actually say something when Clarke speaks and her amused tone catches her entirely off-guard.

“You got awful antsy all of a sudden. Something on your mind?” She tilts her head back, hair fanning against Lexa’s chest, makes eye contact and raises her eyebrows in slightly teasing curiosity.

“Well,” she shuffles again, fingers tapping on the girl’s back, “Please let me know if I’m overstepping, but, well you… You clearly don’t like being home, and I don’t really care why, it’s just, well…” and she can _feel_ her cheeks heating and she kind of hates it, “You could just stay here, until school starts. I mean, you’re here all the time anyways, just like… more of your shit here?” She shrugs slightly in a, frankly sad, attempt to seem more casual about the offer than she really is.

Clarke pushes herself up onto her elbows, hovering over Lexa, and catches her eyes. She’s clearly amused by Lexa’s slight squirming but she’s not letting that stop her from studying the woman’s face. Lexa’s not sure what she’s looking for but she’s strangely hopeful she’s giving the right signals because she, and she only realizes this after the offer’s made, but she _really_ would like Clarke to be around all the time.

Finally Clarke nods and leans down so their lips are brushing, “That would be wonderful, _thank you_ ,” she says, and the kiss that follows is full of gratitude and tinged with heat and Lexa loses herself in it immediately.

~~~~~~

It’s not two days later when Clarke pulls up to Lexa’s building, a suitcase and a duffle bag and a backpack in the back seat of the car her Dad let her use whenever he wasn’t in town. A classic Shelby Mustang and practically a sibling to Clarke for all her Dad loved it.

She loved that she got to drive it, and loved that Lexa had basically swooned when they left the bar together that first night. She also loved that it didn’t have any memories of her mother, she never joined them in the garage, never sat by while Jake changed the oil or did some small maintenance that it didn’t really need, but he wanted to have his hands in the engine anyways.

She parks, takes a deep breath. Everything she really gives a fuck about is currently in the car. She has no plans to go back to her mother’s house until it’s time to pack and leave for school. The rest of the summer is three bags, her car, her card, and Lexa. 

And _Lexa_ , oh, she was making this summer far better than she’d had any chance to anticipate. She was fantastic in every way and the fact that she invited her to basically move in, albeit only for the next couple months, just blew her mind. People she’d known since middle school weren’t doing half as much to show they gave a damn. Maybe if they had she wouldn’t be here, she wouldn’t have gone out that night, she wouldn’t have met Lexa. She’s finding it harder to hate them for that.

There’s a tap on her window and she realizes she’s been parked, lost in thought, long enough for Lexa to make her way down. She flashes a smile and pops the door open. “You’re seriously the best,” she says, opening up the back and pulling out her duffle and backpack. 

Lexa shrugs, grabs her suitcase, “Well you know what they say, treat others how you want to be treated. If I was goin’ through shit like that, I’d want someone to give me an out. At least for a while.”

And Clarke just once again can’t stop herself when she thinks _God she really is fucking perfect_ , and she can’t even be emberrassed in her head for the thought because _she really is_.

~*~

Lexa is unashamed of her appreciation of Clarke’s ass as she follows her up the stairs to her apartment. It’s a great ass. It deserves to be looked at. When Clarke catches her gaze on the first landing she shrugs, unapologetic, and smiles at the small smile and shake of the head Clarke gives.

They get inside and Lexa’s already shoved some things aside in her tiny closet to give Clarke a little room. It’s a bit of a squeeze but with some careful arranging and folding they manage to fit everything in place. They’re working together quietly but not without a comment here or there, it’s surprisingly un-awkward to fit Clarke into the little life she’s established here in the month she’s been home. She fits into all the unused spaces, fills in the cracks, and works around what Lexa had already set up without a complaint.

She knows the girl is mostly just grateful, to be out of that house, to be somewhere else, but she gets the idea that perhaps Clarke is grateful to have someone make space for her. She’s noticed, from overheard conversations mainly, but also from how she acts out in the world, she’s noticed that Clarke has to fight for her space and to be really seen and really heard. She thinks she seems tired of it, of always struggling to be known.

Maybe that’s why she slips into those masks so readily. It’s easier to do what others expect, when they expect the teenage blonde bombshell to be giggly and bubbly and flirty, when they expect her to be cool and smirky and seductive (one Lexa knows she’s fallen prey to more often than she’d admit). It seems the only mask she can’t bear to wear any longer is the Dutiful Daughter And Good Friend.

It seems that’s the only one that hurts more to wear than to fight against, because every time she thinks it starts to slip into place she sees Clarke in her most raw, honest, state yet. Angry. Furious. And ready to let everyone know so.

So she’s happy enough to shuffle her things around, give this bit of her space to the girl who’s so tired of fighting for someone to just give half a damn. It’s worth it, at the end of the day when everything is tucked away and it looks like Clarke has been there the whole time, it’s worth seeing her relax into the couch and waggle a controller and waggle an eyebrow and challenge her to whatever game she’s put in now.

And she can’t help but think, _This is nice_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got hella moody, look, basically everyone sucks in this story just accept that now because I am using this to channel all my rage at canon for the fact that _Lexa was the only one to ever just fucking support Clarke_ and that _still _pisses me off and I will never get over it. So here we are. In a story based on a song that was meant to be mostly a silly 'oops we fell in love' thing and NOPE IT'S ALMOST ENTIRELY A RANT ABOUT CANON AND SKAIRATS.__
> 
> __I will never understand how this keeps happening._ _
> 
> __It's probably because I don't plan anything._ _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake calls, backstory, Clarke is sad

“Kiddo!”

“Daddy!”

Lexa watched as Clarke picked up the video call on her phone, watched as Clarke’s face changed from relaxed and casual to utterly thrilled. The transformation seemed to light her up, like the sun shone down on her alone. The grin on her face shining.

“How’re you doing Kiddo? Your mom hasn’t been able to keep me up to date.” His tone seemed genuinely interested, warm and curious, and Lexa couldn’t help but marvel at the sheer difference it held compared to his wife.

Clarke’s eye twitched ever so slightly at the mention of her mother, but she didn’t slip from her bright cheerfulness. “I’ve been staying with a friend, it’s summer, it’s no fun to be at home all the time,” she pouted slightly and Lexa fought herself to look back to the TV and the game she was playing, ignoring the rising urge she felt to press a kiss to her cheek.

“Oh, which friend? That doesn’t look like Raven’s or Octavia’s place.” Again, curious, genuine, he just wanted to know for the sake of knowing his daughter.

“It’s not. We met a few weeks ago,” Clarke shrugged, then turned the conversation to what her Dad had been up to in the month since she’d heard from him last. Lexa tuned out, focused on her game, determined to beat the boss.

She was unsure how much time had passed when she felt a tap on her shoulder and saw Clarke holding the phone towards her. “He’d like to meet you,” she said with a smile, still bright, eyes absolutely sparkling.

Lexa took the phone warily while Clarke got up to use the bathroom. “Hello sir.”

“Jake, please. For Clarke’s friends it’s always Jake,” and his tone was still warm and inviting and it was no wonder where Clarke had gotten her more charming attributes from. “Clarke hasn’t had a new friend in a long time. She hasn’t had a good one in almost as long,” and now his tone was a little sad, tinged with bitterness, and Lexa wasn’t sure how to handle that so she shrugged and ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face.

She knew the action would show off her tattoos, her piercings, just like she knew that the camera was showing the shabby state of the apartment. If he was going to judge her she would rather it sooner than later.

“Look, Lexa,” serious now, still warm though, “It’s clear to me that Clarke likes you quite a bit. I haven’t seen her this relaxed and happy in months. I’d just like to know, for the sake of my paternal instincts, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

And again, he just wanted to know. He wanted his baby safe and happy and even though he was thousands of miles away and the best he could do was question a stranger via video call he was still going to do what he could, and Lexa respected that.

“She seemed sad,” _angry_ , “when we met. Honestly, I’d just like to see her smile. If I can make that happen, cool.” She shrugged again, eyes earnest, and watched as he evaluated her tone and expression and body language.

“Good. Definitely call me Jake in the future. I’ll let you get back to your game, give Clarke a hug for me when she gets back.”

“Yes sir.”

~*~

“-what are your intentions with my daughter?” Clarke froze with her hand on the doorknob, listening to the response. She wasn’t ashamed to eavesdrop when it came to conversations with her parents, she’d never know anything if she didn’t.

So she leaned close to the flimsy hollow-core door and listened carefully just in time to catch Lexa’s reply. ‘To see her smile’, ‘if I can make it happen, cool’. She couldn’t stop, and didn’t want to stop, the smile that stretched over her face at that. 

_She’s so fucking sweet_ , she thought, finally stepping out of the bathroom and accepting her phone back.

“Did he threaten bodily harm?” She asked casually, flopping back onto the couch.

“No, is that usual?” Lexa raised an eyebrow, squinting suspiciously.

“When he thinks I’m dating someone that’s his go-to. Something involving engine blocks and car accidents usually. I’m pretty sure with my last boyfriend he suggested cut brakes and a lake,” she paused, thinking on her last boyfriend, then scowling added, “I might take him up on that actually.”

Lexa looked at her askance, “That bad?”

Clarke bit her lip, chewing on it even as she chewed on how much she wanted to share, and by extension, relive what had happened. Finally, she sighed, and with a twist to her mouth that tried very hard to be a smile she said, “He made me the Other Woman.”

And Lexa, sweet Lexa, she looked so insulted by the concept that she clearly couldn’t speak. Clarke could practically see the outraged gears turning in her mind before she sputtered out, “What- what kind of fuckin’ idiot-? To _you_? Jesus fuckin’- Who’s that DUMB?”

The anger on her behalf did something soothing to the gaping wound he’d left on her emotions but she shrugged, “I dunno. Guess he just wanted to eat his cake and have it too.”

“Isn’t that the other way around?”

“It makes no sense the other way around.”

Lexa blinked, brow furrowed for a moment, before nodding, “Yeah, yeah you’re right. Wait, beside the point entirely. Who the fuck was that dumb? To fuck with you like that? And to fuck with the other girl?”

“Some douche from school that I’m thrilled I’ll never have to see again,” she shrugged, dropping her head onto the backrest. “Finn, charming and kind and all kinds of thoughtful. He didn’t tell me he had a girlfriend, I didn’t know because she went to a tech school. She showed up at prom, I was his date. It was,” she half-winced, half-snarled, “messy. And loud.”

Now her head fell forward and her hands found her face, rubbing over her cheeks and forehead and pressing the length of her fingers into her eyes until she saw stars. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. And the best part is that wasn’t even the worst part.”

She felt Lexa shift beside her, place a hand on her back and rub gently up and down her spine, “How could it be worse than that?” Her voice soft and _concerned_ and oh _god_ when was the last time someone had just been fucking worried about her?

“His girlfriend was, and I have to emphasize the ‘was’, one of my best friends. She’d never mentioned him by name and he’d never mentioned her at all and-” she squeezed her eyes and rubbing against them harder, like that could hold in the tears she was so _fucking done_ crying. “She blamed me, I mean she blamed him but she blamed me equally. And loudly. In the middle of the fucking dance floor. I mean what did she care she didn’t go to that school. Whatever. She stopped speaking to me then,” a pause, “I didn’t tell my Dad,” and quieter, because she wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to know, “I don’t tell him a lot of things.”

~*~

Lexa could feel rage on Clarke’s behalf simmering under her skin, she knew if she saw this guy or this ex-friend she’d be hard pressed not to punch them. _Who DOES that to someone?_ she asks herself, sliding her arm around Clarke’s shoulders and pulling her close.

The tight ball she’d curled into concerned her, she’d never seen her like this, it was disconcerting. Moreso than if she’d just been crying, crying she could deal with, but this was some kind of dry mourning of friendship lost that she didn’t know how to handle. How can you still be so obviously, viscerally sad and not cry?

So she had no idea what the best thing was but hugs were never a bad thing and cuddles were always a good idea so she employed both and pulled the girl in tight against her, falling sideways so that Clarke was atop her and she could wrap her in her arms.

Clarke immediately shifted from burying her face in her hands to burying it in Lexa’s chest and she tucked her arms around the woman and held on so tight it was a wonder she could breathe. She didn’t mind. She still couldn’t see Clarke’s face but the hunch of her shoulders alone left her almost desperate to comfort.

She waited, thinking, rubbing her thumbs in circles on the girl’s back. Finally the thought coalesced and she couldn’t help it when it formed ready to be spoken, “You can tell me anything. I just… I hope you know that. We’re friends enough, you know I don’t judge, yeah?”

She felt the nod against her chest, a quick squeeze of arms around her that she took as a ‘thank you’ and ‘I know’. Clarke turned her head to the side, enough that she could speak clearly. “My personal life is just a total disaster right now. You’re… you’re kind of my only friend right now. Everyone else just… peaced out when shit went down.”

Lexa could almost feel her heart breaking at the empty tone of Clarke’s confession, so she pulled her closer, like that could keep her from shattering from the sound. “That’s awful,” was all she could muster, pressed into the top of the blonde head.

Clarke shrugged, “That’s my life. And-” and now there was a sound like a sob, choked, somehow still dry, “That’s _still_ not even the worst part.” And she sounded like she almost wanted to laugh at it, that losing all of her friends for being a victim to some stupid boy’s stupid games wasn’t enough, that there was something _else_ , something _more_.

And Lexa was thinking, and she was running through everything she’d learned about Clarke and the very few people that were still in her life and she realized. Her eyes were wide her voice was heartbreakingly soft when she said, “Your mother’s fucking someone, isn’t she.”

And if she hadn’t been holding Clarke so close she wouldn’t have felt the nod, and if she wasn’t holding her so tight she wouldn’t have felt her relax just a bit, just a tiny bit, to have that truth spoken aloud.

“My Dad doesn’t know,” is said so softly it’s almost lost below her own breaths and now she knows she feels her heart breaking. “I don’t know- I can’t- I can’t be the one to tell him. I’m not- Just… I can’t break his heart like that.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Lexa says so immediately and so firmly that she even surprises herself. “You wouldn’t be breaking his heart. Your mother did that when she chose to be unfaithful. That’s on her. Her and her selfishness.”

She felt Clarke nod again, just barely, “I can’t see his face when he finds out. I’ll break. I’m already- I’m so- I feel cracked, from… from everything. This whole year. And if I see his face, I’ll break. And I- there’s… no one is going to help put me together again. I can’t do it alone.”

Now, now she feels tears start to soak into her shirt and now she fights back her own because _jesus_ even she’d never felt this burdened and alone and she’d been supporting herself since she was 16. So she shifts, pulls away just enough to tip Clarke’s head back and look her in the eyes, and she gets distracted for a moment by how bright they are when they’re full of tears she fights to keep from falling, but she focuses and she says, “You’re not alone, Clarke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angry!Clarke will be returning, Supportive!Lexa continues to be amazing, everyone else continues to suck.
> 
> I almost cried writing the end section, that's weird for me.
> 
> Readers of Can't Say: It's not getting ditched I'm just waiting for them to decide what's going to happen next, I honestly don't write the story the characters just start Doing Things and I tell you about it, okay?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bar, Octavia, Lexa shuts shit down

Clarke tapped her pool cue against the sternum of the man standing next to her, encouraging him to move so she could take her shot. “Artigas, I don’t know _why_ you always want to play me. You haven’t won yet. Do you just like buying me beers that much?” She teased, leaning into the space he’d vacated to take her shot and continue dominating the game.

“Oh one of these days I’ll actually get to play when you’re at the table,” he shrugged, acknowledging that more often than not he’d have no reason to even pick up his cue when playing against her.

“Wait, I know what it is. You’re hoping I’ll get drunk and sloppy and you can claim victory! The first to beat me, that’s it, isn’t it?” She moved around the table and took another shot, grinning at the satisfying double-clack that followed.

“You’ve caught me. I keep losing to sneak you beers in the desperate hope that you’ll finally lose your cool. My nefarious schemes have been revealed. Whatever shall I do?” He managed the whole speech in a full deadpan and Clarke had to grab the edge of the pool table to keep from falling over in laughter.

This was a pretty typical night now, Clarke would meet Lexa at the bar, she’d own the pool tables while she waited for the woman to get off from her part time job, then they’d chat and drink and make their way home. 

It held a nice regularity. She didn’t consider the usual crowd friends, but they were friendly, and they took losing to her _constantly_ in stride. It was enough, she could relax, she could laugh, she could let her guard down.

Until, that is, she heard a voice she’d been ignoring ever since a disastrous phone call.

“Clarke? What the hell are you doing here?”

She froze, felt the cheerful grin slip into something hard and cold and caught Artigas stiffen when he saw her face. She glanced over her shoulder, just to confirm she was hearing what she thought she was, and then deliberately turned her attention back to the pool table.

The game, as it was, was over in moments. She finished it brutally, even more so than usual, then racked her cue, grabbed the beer Artigas paid for from the bar, and went to her usual table to watch the defeated scramble for second place at the pool tables.

Only then did she actually make eye contact with Octavia, who was still staring at her bewildered. She assessed the other girl, saw her attempts to fit into the local aesthetic, somewhat ruined by how pristine everything she wore was. Clarke never came her trying to fit in, she wore what she would have anyways, usually shorts and a skimpy top, Lexa teasing her about her aversion to clothing had become a staple of their nights out.

Octavia took a wary step towards Clarke, reclined on her chair at the high-top like it was a throne. Clarke didn’t break eye contact, didn’t even attempt to rearrange her face into something more welcoming. She just waited to see what the hell Octavia wanted now.

“This isn’t exactly your scene Princess,” Octavia started, casting eyes around the dingy, sticky, smelly bar, before looking back to Clarke and eyeing her up and down.

Clarke flicked her hair back behind her shoulders, threw one leg over the other and leaned her elbow on the table top. “Not yours either.” And she knew her voice was low and her tone was harsh and cold by the way Octavia flinched.

The other girl cast about, trying to find something to say in response, left at a loss by Clarke’s attitude and the efficient shut-down she’d delivered. Three words and none of them ‘fuck’ and she couldn’t muster a thing.

Her flailing for whatever it was she wanted to try and convey was, thankfully, put to rest when Clarke spotted someone coming up behind her. “Lincoln!” She exclaimed with a smile, ignoring the girl standing between them completely. “Haven’t seen you in a few days, what’s up?”

“Hey Clarke,” he nodded at her, then looked down at Octavia, “I’ve been out with this one. You two know each other?”

“We did,” clipped and not inviting questions because _fuck no she wasn’t answering any questions about Octavia right now_.

Octavia had the good grace to wince at the words and the tone and not argue that they _do_ know each other still, because honestly she didn’t know this Clarke and she didn’t know how to get the one she did back.

Lincoln nodded in acceptance anyways, easily assessing the bad standing between the two and accepting it as not his place, and lord did Clarke adore him for that. “What brings you around tonight? Want me to kick your ass again?” She asks, again ignoring the other girl and waggling her eyebrows at Lincoln instead.

“As much as I love that, nah, I was hoping Lexa would be here soon. I wanted to introduce my girlfriend for a while.” 

The implication of that statement, well _implications_ , that Octavia was the girlfriend, that Lincoln was the boyfriend that had so distracted her that she couldn’t even be there for her best friend, and that Lexa’s opinion on her mattered, flashed through Clarke’s mind and she took a moment to think.

There was a hint of bitterness that if Lincoln hadn’t met Octavia when he did, that she’d have had her friend when she needed her most. There was more bitterness at the fact that Octavia had let a brand new relationship distract her so thoroughly from every other person in her life. Happiness for Lincoln’s happiness. Anger at Octavia immediately coming into _her space_ and judging her just because she didn’t try and pretend to be who she wasn’t. Irritation that her pleasant evening with Lexa was going to be totally derailed. 

So she nodded. “She should be here in like fifteen, I was just wrecking Artigas while I waited.”

“He doesn’t know when to quit, does he?” Lincoln chuckled, and something in Clarke warmed at his easy laugh.

Octavia had drifted to stand closer to Lincoln’s side, she noticed, quietly watching them interact.

“He really really doesn’t. I played him three times tonight. I had to change to a lower ABV beer!” She tapped her pint glass and took a sip. Not her usual, but still good, and one she could enjoy more of before worrying about being actually drunk.

She didn’t get drunk. Drunk people made stupid decisions. So she’d enjoy her beers and eat something with way too many carbs and throw back a glass of water after every pint, because she didn’t make stupid decisions sober.

The door opened then, and Clarke caught sight from the corner of her eye, immediately snapping around to wave Lexa over. Not to show her that she was there, but that she wasn’t at the pool table still. Lexa would’ve come to the high-top anyways. It was where she always sat to watch Clarke win.

“Hey Lincoln!” Lexa said as she slung an arm around Clarke’s shoulders. “How many drinks you win tonight?” She asked Clarke.

“Three, all from Art,” she let a slightly smug smirk show up.

“Figures. He’s gonna just keep challenging you until by sheer luck he wins,” she stole a gulp from the beer, made a face, then took another drink. “Lincoln, who’s your friend?”

Lincoln put a hand on Octavia’s shoulder, urging her forward slightly from where she’d been almost hiding behind him. “My girlfriend, Octavia.”

~*~

Lexa’s eyes snapped back to the girl she’d all but dismissed, gaze sharpening. That was a seriously uncommon name, and she was Clarke’s age. She held Clarke a little tighter with the arm around her shoulder, a silent ‘ah, I see, it’s her’ and ‘I can punch her if you’d like’. It was answered with a grip to the hand resting on her, ‘I’m good’, ‘just stay here’.

“How’d you two meet?” She asks, staring the girl down, waiting to see if she wilts or if she rallies. She knows how people see her, this is important if she wants to be in Lincoln’s life.

Octavia gulps, squares her shoulders, “I was out running, tripped, twisted my ankle pretty bad. Lincoln was passing by, saw, practically carried me to the hospital.” She shrugs, and waits.

Lexa nods, glances at Lincoln, sees the enamoured look on his face, glances at Clarke and sees how she’s carefully only looking at Lincoln. She decides this is going to get really fucking awkward really fucking fast and honestly, she just wanted a fun evening.

So she cuts out the bullshit. “Alright, look,” attention is now on her, “I honestly don’t know what the hell you did to piss off Clarke as badly as you did, but I know her well enough that you deserve it. Lincoln’s a big boy and if he likes you, fine, but I don’t like you. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t come here anymore.”

Her voice is even, carefully, but her eyes are hard and her face is bordering on a scowl and she sees Octavia flinch _hard_ at her words. There’s a measure of satisfaction in that, she finds, and hopes Clarke feels it too. 

Lincoln watches the girls, sees Clarke blatantly ignore Octavia’s almost desperate looks. He nods at Lexa, “Alright. That’s fair. I won’t be around as much, y’know.”

Lexa nods too, because _obviously_ , but this space was Clarke’s before it was Octavia’s and they’re just going to have to deal with that. “I’ll see you around, then.”

He sighs, a hand on Octavia’s shoulder, and guides her back out. She looks like she wants to protest but he says something quietly that shuts her up and Lexa is really fucking thankful. She might have to send him something.

Clarke relaxes as soon as they’re out the doors, lets her forehead drop to the table, then winces and wipes the crust that transferred at the contact from her skin. “Thank you. I didn’t want to make a huge… fucking THING about it.”

“Yeah, me neither. S’just good Lincoln respects me as much as he does that it went down so well.” Lexa squeezes her shoulders again, presses a kiss to the nearest one, then finally goes to the bar and picks up the draft that had been poured when she first walked in.

~~~~~~

That night, curled up tight in bed, Clarke pulled her head from Lexa’s shoulder. She looked down at the woman who’d let her into her life so wholly, without reservation, and defended her right to be there, and she couldn’t help but think, _Is this what it feels like to fall in love?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lexa will take no shit, not even the potential for shit. Octavia is mostly speechless bc Clarke has _never_ treated her like that before, ever. She's shook, basically.
> 
> Briefly mentioned here but this Clarke basically never wears more clothing than is required. The only time she wears one of her two pairs of jeans is when she wants to ride Lexa's bike, otherwise it's shorts and tank tops 100% outside the apartment. Inside it's kind of a miracle she's got clothes on at all. No idea if that's ever going to be mentioned or relevant, it's just a background fact for y'all.
> 
> Also, Clarke, babe, the answer is 'duh'.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aden! He doesn't suck, unless you ask Lexa.

Clarke is settled on the couch, curled up around a novel, wholly removed from the world around her. Staying with Lexa has been more peaceful than she could’ve imagined. She doesn’t have to keep an ear out to try and avoid her mother, she doesn’t have to pretend to care if her ‘friends’ try to contact her, she can simply _be_ , and it’s fucking wonderful.

So she’s been reading, and drawing, and keeping the tiny apartment tidy when she wants to stretch her legs without going out. When she does go out, she stays in the neighborhood, it’s too low-class for any of her schoolmates to encounter her, and she loves the anonymity. 

At least, as far as it goes, since she’s become a regular face at the corner gas station, finding a soft spot for their cheap flavored coffee when she craves something sweet. She could go out further, take the car, go somewhere she already knew, but nothing was drawing her out there. In fact, many things made her want to avoid it. So she stayed in this little pocket reality where she could read all day, then go close out the bar, then come back to the apartment with Lexa and fall asleep holding and being held.

So it’s a surprise to her when she hears the front door open, it’s never locked when she’s home, when it’s supposed to be the middle of Lexa’s shift at her summer job. She raises her head and looks over the back of the couch and furrows her brow because _that’s not Lexa_.

She blinks a few times before recognition strikes, “Aden?”

His head shoots up from where he was focusing on taking his shoes off and she has a moment to be grateful to herself that she decided to wear Real Clothes in the form of a sun dress today instead of just underwear and a tank top.

His brow furrows as well, but stays as such even when he replies, “Clarke?”

She grins at him, “Bet you’re confused as hell right now, huh?” She dog-ears the page of her book, setting it on the coffee table.

He moves around to the front of the couch and looks at her with his head tilted to the side, looking for all the world like a golden retriever puppy. “Uh, yeah. This _is_ my sister’s apartment right?”

She nods, pats the cushion next to her, and waits for him to flop down. “Yup. We met like a month ago, I’ve actually been staying here for a few weeks.”

He nods, and she knows he knows her home life was utter trash by the end of the school year. They didn’t really talk in the art room but no one with good things going on would stay there until they were kicked out by janitors. They had become sort of buddies via getting hassled out of the school building on the regular.

“Huh, she sort of vaguely mentioned someone but I didn’t think it was like… serious?” He tilts his head again.

“Not really serious, just a very kind gesture.” She shrugs, because that’s what it was, and whatever they are is not serious. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be. And now that thought’s in her head and she feels her mind flipping through moments and memories trying to decide exactly how serious things have possibly gotten when neither of them were trying to take things in that direction.

His voice snaps her back to reality. “Right,” it’s sardonic and he’s smirking, “Very _convenient_ too I’ll bet.”

She gapes at him, because if there’s one person she did not expect to call her out on sleeping with Lexa it would’ve been her baby brother. After a moment she rallies and shrugs, “Well, I won’t argue that.”

He laughs too, then eyes the game consoles under the TV. “Hey since we’re both here, wanna play something?”

“Hell yes!”

~*~

Lexa stretches her back out as she reaches the top of the stairs to her floor. She’s stiff from standing for her shift and she can hear her spine popping as she moves. It’s not the worst job but it’s dull and she’s excited to be home. Excited to see Clarke. No matter what she’s gotten up to that day, she’s cheerful and bubbly and makes everything brighter.

She pauses with her hand on the knob, head tilted in confusion. There’s talking and laughter and it’s clear that there’s someone there with Clarke. None of her ‘friends’ would be invited around so that means it has to be someone Lexa knows, which is a very short list.

_Please don’t be Anya. Please don’t be Anya. Please don’t be Anya._

She opens the door and sees two blonde heads on the sofa, freezes for a moment that it _might actually be Anya_ , then realizes that it is, in fact, Aden. Then she freezes all over again because _her baby brother is hanging out with the girl she’s sleeping with and oh god what have they been up to how long has he BEEN here?_

“Lexa! C’mere, Clarke’s kicking ass right now!” Aden cheers, not bothering to turn around in his greeting.

She walks over to the couch, leans on the back just behind Clarke’s shoulder and sees that she is, in fact, kicking ass. She drops a kiss onto her bare shoulder without a thought, smiling when Clarke leans back ever so slightly into the touch, but otherwise doesn’t remove her attention from the game.

“How long have you been here dude?” She asks him, almost blushing at the cocked eyebrow and smirk combo he’s giving her.

“Couple hours. We started playing hot-potato style. You messed up when you gave me your work schedule or something.”

She shakes her head, “Nah, coworker got sick and I was the only one willing to come in on short notice.” She plants a hand on the back of the couch and hops over to land between the two, earning a shove from Aden and an aggravated grunt from Clarke.

He elbows her in the side, “You never said the girl you were seeing was _Clarke_ ,” his voice is low to keep their conversation as private as possible under the noise coming from the TV.

“I didn’t think it mattered?” She’s confused, Aden never mentioned Clarke either, the only reason she knew they had interacted at all is because Clarke had told her so.

“Uh, she’s fantastic? Why would you not tell everyone?” Now he’s looking at her like she’s stupid and really what’s the point of siblings?

“Who would I tell?” She counters, eyes narrowing. “You’re all,” she waves vaguely at his entire person.

“Anya?”

“Fuck no,” she exhales emphatically.

“Why not?” 

“You know what her favorite pastime is? Scaring off girls,” she grumbles, crossing her arms and scowling. And it’s true, it seems like any time there’s a girl Lexa’s more than passingly interested in, Anya sniffs it out and shows up trying to be as intimidating as possible. It’s obnoxious.

“I don’t think Clarke scares that easy,” he says with a grin.

“Aden, I levelled, your turn!” Clarke interrupts, reaching across Lexa to hand him the controller. Lexa doesn’t mind the invasion of her space, using it as an excuse to wrap an arm around Clarke’s waist and hold her closer.

~*~

Clarke takes this as her chance at her own semi-private conversation with Lexa, tilting her head back so it rests on her shoulder. “So who’s Anya?”

She feels Lexa stiffen, hears a disgruntled noise leave her throat, then huff, “My friend.”

“She must be a great friend, to get that kind of reaction,” she teases, twining her fingers with the hand on her waist and happy for the contact and the ability to tease Lexa for _something_ because jesus if this girl isn’t basically perfect.

“She is, she’s just…” Another disgruntled noise. “She sucks. She’s my friend, but she sucks.” It’s not said bitterly, but in that way where there’s aggravation and fondness in equal measure.

Clarke chuckles, “Why haven’t I met her yet?”

Lexa groans deep in her throat, slumps backwards against the couch cushion. Aden laughs at her dramatics.

“Lexa doesn’t want you to meet her. Lexa’s afraid she’ll spook you,” Aden informs her cheerfully, eyes still on the TV.

“Aden you _know_ what she’s like,” Lexa protests, gesturing vaguely with her free hand. 

“Well I don’t know what she’s like. I’m very interested to see who could possibly be the only person you’d call a friend,” Clarke’s tone has changed from teasing to sincere. She does want to know, learn a little more about Lexa outside of their own little bubble.

Lexa rubs her hand along her face, side-eyes Clarke _hard_ , groans again. “Fine. She’s been bugging me to hang out for like three weeks and I keep blowing her off. Might as well bite the bullet, if I don’t she’s gonna just show up here like _some other people_ do,” she side-eyes Aden now.

Clarke nods, she’d rather meet Anya when she’s guaranteed to be wearing something most people find presentable. And outside of the place she’s come to find feels more like home than her house does.

“Well you know my schedule,” she jokes, nudging Lexa’s shoulder, “So it’s up to you when it happens.”

“Better make it soon or she’ll chicken out,” Aden pipes in, pausing the game to face his sister, “She’ll start finding any excuse, it’s pretty impressive how good she is at putting off stuff like this.”

“Aden could you _not_?” Lexa squeaks, and Clarke loses it at the sound, so undignified, coming from Lexa of all people.

He shrugs, “Well it’s true. You’re like the queen of procrastinators when it comes to social stuff. I don’t know why anyone puts up with you to be honest.” He unpauses and goes back to the game.

“I am not…” She mutters just loud enough for Clarke to hear, sending her into another fit of giggles. And yeah, this afternoon is not what she’d expected, but being present for Lexa getting teased and lovingly mocked is infinitely better than the books and drawings she’d anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short but only because there's nothing else to throw in this chapter. Next chapter we get Angry!Clarke back and y'all are gonna fkin love it I'm sure.
> 
> Who all's here for sibling love? Nothing stuffs up the Broody Sibling like the Chipper Sibling amirite?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn. Lexa thinks Clarke is special.

They’re at the mall, and Clarke is thrilled. She’d been avoiding it, like pretty much everywhere else she used to go, but today she decided that she was a teenager, and it was summer, and she had allowance saved up from years of only really buying art supplies, and there was a pretty girl she wanted to spend money on.

So they’re at the mall, enjoying the air conditioning and the skylights and the not-too-packed crowd, bouncing from one store to another. She’s spoiling Lexa, it’s intentional. She’d had a shit shift at work and Clarke was determined that the best way to work that off was to splurge on frivolities.

It took some convincing, but Clarke finally got her to cave when she pointed out that she’d been living with her rent-free for weeks, so the least she could do was take her up on buying her clothes and candles and other things that make her smile.

At the moment she’s settled at a table in the food court, bags of purchases tucked under her seat, while Lexa goes to find whatever smells best for their lunch. When given the chance, Clarke discovered, Lexa was a very selective eater. 

She’s got a book out, a new one she picked up, and is flipping through it slowly while she waits. It’s about as peaceful as it can get in the middle of a summer crowd and the background noise of people is almost as soothing as a river.

Her solitude is rudely interrupted, and she’s briefly considering only reading behind locked doors if this turns into a pattern, before she registers _exactly_ whose voice it is that broke through.

She freezes, feels her lip curl of its own volition, takes a deep breath, dog-ears the page and tucks the book away into one of the bags. She looks up, and has the satisfaction of seeing her target flinch at the stormy look on her face.

Unfortunately, his confidence is boundless, so he simply swipes a hand through his untamed hair and smiles boyishly. “Hey Princess.”

And _fuck_ does she hate that name, and it’s all his fault anyone calls her that anyways and she regrets everything that happened in her life that lead to him seeing that halloween picture and deciding that the moniker fit her still.

“ _Finn_ ,” she acknowledges almost snarling his name. “Go away.”

He looks taken aback by this, like they didn’t part on the _worst possible terms_ , like she should be happy to see him. But then he grins and steps closer, he was never good at listening, she realizes. “Aw, don’t be like. Didn’t you miss me? I missed you.” 

She barely stops herself from rolling her eyes, he’d take that as teasing or something equally non-hateful. “I didn’t. Go away.” Her tone is clipped and she’s staring him down and she _knows_ there’s nothing inviting in her face or her posture or her voice but he’s so stuck in his own fucking head that he smiles again and takes the seat opposite her and _are you fucking kidding_.

“I’m sure you didn’t,” he’s teasing now, like she’s playing hard to get. “C’mon, don’t be like that. I know you missed me. How’s your summer been?”

“Oh, just great, y’know, after your _girlfriend_ showed up to prom and humiliated me in front of the whole school. Y’know, after all my friends, because, you seem to forget, _Raven was my best friend_ before you fucked us _both_ over, so yeah, after ALL my friends ditched me because you decided to fuck around,” she’s speaking between clenched teeth now, “My summer’s been fucking fantastic.”

He’s frowning now and god it’s so nice to see that stupid smile off his face, “You know I never meant it to go down like that, right?”

“No, I don’t. Because you didn’t tell me you _had a girlfriend_ when you asked me out, or when we were dating. Better yet, you didn’t tell me _you were Raven’s boyfriend_ and I KNOW you knew we were friends!” She’s gripping the edge of the table now, a desperate effort to stop herself from lunging across and throttling him.

“I- I did it for you, so we could be together!” He looks surprised at her anger, which angers her further. What kind of an idiot to expect anything else.

“No, Finn. You did it for _you_ , so you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about breaking her heart. You’re a selfish asshole and Raven deserves better.” Even if they’re not speaking, even if Raven hates her, she’s still her friend and _fuck_ if she’s going to let _Finn_ think that he’s worthy of her.

“No, I wanted to be with _you_. Raven was just controlling, we weren’t even dating when she showed up!” And now she knows he’s lying, because Raven told her every time she went on a date and how great her night was and honestly it was sheer happenstance and a touch of privacy that she’d never mentioned him by name.

She scoffs, beyond sick of his pleading and pandering, grabs her bags with one hand and stands to find Lexa.

But then she’s stopped and there’s a hand on her arm and she’d really like to rip off the arm it’s attached to. “Let go of me, Finn,” she commands, staring him down and letting her snarl run rampant across her face.

“No way, just, let’s talk about this!” He’s got a grip on her bicep and she’s so fucking done letting him touch her.

She drops the bags, brings her fist across and smashes it down into the crook of his elbow. He releases her arm and yelps, clutching at the joint. She steps towards him, gratified when he sways away from her, and grabs the front of his shirt in her hands. She pulls him close enough to growl, “Never. Fucking. Touch me. Again.”

She lets him go with a light shove, just enough that he _has_ to take a step away from her. He’s looking at her with kicked puppy eyes and they’d work on anyone who didn’t know him. But she does know him now, and she’s not impressed.

~*~

Lexa steps up behind Clarke, pressing a gentle hand to the small of her back. She looks over at Finn and she thinks she can see why Clarke would’ve liked him, aesthetically. He looks kind of boy band and for a high school boyfriend that could appeal. 

“I think you ought to leave,” she says, and almost smiles when his eyes snap to her’s and he sees her properly. God does she enjoy that she can intimidate without even trying.

“Clarke, c’mon I-” He tries again, glancing quickly between the two, trying to figure out their relationship and really not realizing just how fucked he is if he keeps this up.

“No, you really fuckin’ ought to leave,” Lexa says, glowering. “I think security’s already lookin’ this way.” 

Now he looks around and realizes that his antics have drawn some attention. Not a crowd, but there’s a radius of tables watching them carefully. She thinks she sees one with a phone out, taking video. Hopefully they caught the whole thing.

He bites his lip, glances around, rubs his elbow, then turns and walks away with as much dignity as he can muster. It’s not a lot.

Clarke relaxes as soon as he’s out of sight, leans into Lexa slightly. “I so did not want a fist fight, but I was so ready to deck him if he didn’t back the fuck off.”

Lexa nods, she was ready to deck him too. “You wanna head back to the apartment?”

“Why? All drama’d out?” Clarke teases with a smirk.

Lexa leans in close, lips brushing her ear, “Nah, you’re just _really fucking hot_ when you’re pissed.”

She’s rewarded by the shiver that runs along Clarke, and the dark-eyed looks she shoots her. They grab their bags and head out, bumping shoulders and biting lips and overall forgetting entirely about the almost-fight in the food court.

By the time they’re back at the apartment both tempers and libidos have cooled somewhat and Lexa takes a moment to pull Clarke in close and press a kiss to her hair, her cheek, her lips, all but pulling the tension from her shoulders in the process.

“He’s beyond an idiot, you know that, right?” She asks gently, not really wanting to pull them back to where Clarke was angry and remembering hurtful things, but she has a _need_ to say this and really it’s not worth fighting against herself when it comes to Clarke.

“I know. I don’t even- I’m not-” She huffs, tries to organize her thoughts, “He tried to say that it was because he wanted _me_ , and I know that’s a lie. It just, it makes me feel… replaceable.”

Lexa almost growls at that, swallowing the sound down, because _where did that come from_ , before pulling Clarke towards the bedroom. “You,” she says, running her hands down the girl’s sides, then quickly grabbing her by the hips, lifting, and tossing her onto the bed. 

The yelp and laugh that Clarke releases is entirely why she does it. “You are entirely unique,” she crawls over, kisses her forehead. “You’re gorgeous and funny,” a kiss to her nose. “You’re smart and artistic as fuck,” a kiss to her cheek. “You’re kind,” a kiss to her neck. “You’re sexy as all hell,” a kiss to her collarbone. “You’re special,” and the kisses continue down her body while Lexa makes it her mission to show Clarke just how special she thinks she is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean to write two chapters back to back like this but here it is and I told y'all Angry!Clarke was gonna be here. I really wanted her to punch Finn but she's not violent, just pissed.
> 
> Lexa is still sweet as fuck and Clarke's gonna turn into a puddle if she keeps being so wonderful. I might too, tbh.
> 
> Who else do we wanna see Clarke yell at? Any interactions in particular y'all are curious about? Talk to me :D
> 
> [Also, HMU on Tumblr!](https://theplaguebeast.tumblr.com/)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anya doesn't suck. Raven doesn't suck. Lexa is mostly just around.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out for the last month. Should’ve figured.”

Lexa looks away from the pool tables, she’d been casually keeping score on Clarke’s victories. Or rather, she’d been tracking who all had lost and how many times, since that was more interesting than counting if Clarke won.

She turns to look at Anya, who’s now flopped on a stool at her usual table. “It’s not like it’s hard to find me,” she agrees, arching an eyebrow.

Anya is watching the room, then turns her attention to where Lexa had been watching. “Jesus. She’s… _bouncy_ ,” she says with mild disgust as Clarke does, in fact, bounce around the pool table.

The regulars know her tricks now, and they know that she’ll destroy them, but some still challenge. More fun for everyone involved is to see those who aren’t in the know get lured in by bright blonde hair and bright blue eyes and, yes, bouncing curves. It’s almost a running joke at this point.

“She’s _good_ ,” Lexa counters, casting an appreciative gaze Clarke’s way. The performance may not be for her, but she does still love to watch it. 

“You’re kidding,” Anya says flatly, side-eyeing Lexa. “She looks like she barely knows which end of the cue to hold.”

Lexa smirks, tilts her head towards the pool tables, and says simply, “Watch.”

She keeps her eyes on Anya now, seeing the moment the other woman catches onto the game really being played. It sure as shit isn’t pool. Clarke’s playing the crowd, playing her opponents. The game itself isn’t even a factor, because she knows she’ll win. So she teases and coaxes and cajoles and charms the cockiest, the smuggest, the most leering into challenging her. And then she sends them off with their tails between their legs.

“Shit,” Anya mutters, “She _is_ good.”

Lexa shrugs, putting on an unaffected air. “Well, I told you. She’s here almost every night, and it’s the same thing.”

Anya grunts in acknowledgement, narrowing her eyes at the blonde girl. “She’s not the type to be here. What gives?”

Lexa goes to answer but is interrupted by the object of discussion joining their table with her usual excessive movement. She knows it’s to visually tease, but she’s far from complaining.

“Who’s your friend?” Clarke asks Lexa, glancing quickly at Anya and back again.

“Anya,” she nods her head towards the woman, “Meet Clarke,” she nods her head towards the girl.

“Ah, Anya. I’ve heard about you,” all bubbliness drains away and a sharp smirk settles on her lips, and Lexa finds it gratifying to see Anya’s eyes narrow again at the sudden change.

“You look awful young to be here,” Anya finally says after casting her eyes up and down Clarke’s form.

“I am,” she replies simply, turning to accept her victory beer from the poor shmuck that she’d just beaten. She takes a long drink and cocks a brow at Anya, who for her part looks slightly put off by the easy admission.

“So,” after a long moment of silence, “How do you know each other?”

Clarke’s smirk grows and Lexa hides her own behind her pint, she knows whatever’s about to come out of Clarke’s mouth is going to be good. “I picked her up here about a month ago. Since then we’ve been…” she glances quickly at Lexa who tries to silently convey ‘say whatever the fuck you want’, “Fuck buddies? Friends with benefits? I’m living with her and also we bone.”

Lexa, who’d been trying very hard to avoid it, still chokes on her beer along with her laughter, Anya’s eyes shooting wide open at the, frankly _crude_ way of describing their relationship. She wasn’t _wrong_ , not in any capacity, but still. Then, though, that was Clarke all over.

“I see,” Anya says, a sharp glance at Lexa, who nods in confirmation, “You look like jailbait.”

Lexa chokes on her beer again and god she really should just pretend to drink for the rest of this conversation.

“I do,” Clarke agrees easily, taking a drink. “I’m not, but I do look it. Honestly it makes everything here,” she throws a thumb over her shoulder, towards the pool tables, “more fun.”

Lexa nods, “It’s better than television.”

“Oh, if either of you want a refill, Ilian owes me three, so put it on his tab,” she nods her head towards the young man she’d played last. “He kept upping his bets.”

Anya grunts, looks quickly at Ilian, then back at Clarke. “So you’re living with Lexa?”

Clarke nods, “Yep.”

Lexa realizes, belatedly, that she’s playing another game. One she normally uses on hostile parties. Baiting them into asking exactly what they want to know, or saying exactly what they mean. 

Anya waits a beat for her to elaborate then huffs when it becomes clear she won’t, “Why?”

“She offered,” Clarke shrugs, and Lexa knows she’s fighting a ridiculous grin by how her eyes are sparkling.

Anya turns to Lexa, “Does she ever answer a question properly?”

Lexa raises a brow, “Yep.”

“Oh god, not you too!” She drops her head into her hands and Lexa sees the moment Clarke loses her fight to not laugh. She watches as the girl doubles over in a fit of giggles, and realizes that Clarke has managed to completely wrong-foot Anya’s usual interrogation/scaring off.

“Sorry, sorry, I just- Aden told me, he said you try to be intimidating,” Clarke straightens up, wipes a tear from the corner of her eye. “It’s really hard to be intimidating when you’re exasperated.”

Anya grunts, face still in her hands, then slides them down and slaps them onto the table sharply. She looks annoyed that Clarke didn’t jump a little at the noise. “I don’t _try_ to be intimidating, I exist and people are intimidated.”

“It’s the resting bitch face,” Lexa finally chimes in, shooting a smirk at her friend.

“I’ll rest your bitch face,” Anya grumbles in response.

Clarke shakes her head, still smiling. “Lexa offered to let me stay with her this summer because my mother’s a bitch and all my friends suck ass.”

Anya looks mildly taken aback, clearly she’d already resigned herself to not getting any kind of straight answer, only to be handed information. Cheerfully handed information. After a long moment of silence she finally says, “Tell me you’re at least out of high school.”

~~~~~~

_Raven: I saw the video_

Clarke stares at her phone, it’s the first time Raven has messaged her since things went down, and she’s confused as fuck.

_Clarke: Video???_

A link is the reply, a video posted on Twitter, she vaguely recognizes it as Harper’s before realizing the video is of her confrontation with Finn at the mall. And it’s the _whole damn thing_ from the moment he stepped up to her. She can see her own rage clear on her face, and his blatant disregard for it on his.

She sends a mental thank you to Harper for loving drama and recognizing it when it would pop up, and another to whoever sent the video to Raven.

_Raven: I believe you._

_Clarke: Are you okay?_

She can’t help herself. Raven was her _best friend_ and this was the worst thing that could’ve possibly happened to her, within the confines of high school drama. She has to know if she’s doing okay, no matter how much it hurt when she got the cold shoulder for something that wasn’t her fault.

_Raven: You were right. I deserve better._

She tries to think of something to say in response, because _yeah, of course Raven deserves better_.

_Raven: You do too._

And that she hadn’t expected at all.

_Raven: You wanna meet up sometime? Catch up?_

_Clarke: I’d like that_

She settles into her seat to make plans and she hopes deep down in her bones that everything will be okay with them. Because she’s been strong, she’s been handling shit, she’s been standing up for herself, but _god_ does she want her friend back.

Lexa has been wonderful, spectacularly so, beyond what she could’ve anticipated, but she needs someone in her life who understands just how deep her mother’s betrayal cuts. Raven has always been that person, she hopes she will be again.

Clarke offers the bar to meet at, it’s not neutral ground in any sense but it’s so far out of where their classmates go that she knows they’ll avoid any more _fucking teenage drama_ there.

To her surprise, Raven accepts, even knowing that it’s Clarke’s regular haunt.

_Clarke: See you Saturday, then_

_Raven: It’s a plan_

~*~

Lexa walks in to see Clarke staring at her phone with an unreadable expression. If push came to shove she’d call it anticipation, but there’s too much else mixed in there. She’s gotten good at reading the girl but complex emotions are tricky for anyone.

“What’s goin’ on?” She asks, taking off her boots and jacket and leaning over the back of the couch to rest her chin on Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke turns her phone to show her, Lexa’s heart melting a tiny bit at the invitation into probably the only private space Clarke has at the moment. “Someone took video of the mall the other day. Someone showed Raven. She… We’re gonna meet at the bar. Talk.” Her voice is tight.

Lexa nods, leans back and runs her hands along Clarke’s shoulders, slowly soothing away the tension there. “That’s good, right? She seems chill,” a pause, “well, now anyways.”

Clarke chuckles, relaxing under her hands, “She’s chill 99% of the time, I just got caught up in the 1% where she has a full flaming break,” she sighs, drops her head back against the couch and looks up at Lexa, “You cool to lurk in the shadows in case I need another rescue?”

Lexa smirks, thinking back on how they met, and bends down to press a kiss to her forehead, “Definitely, you should know by now that I’ve got your back.”

Clarke’s hand slides up to cup the back of her head and pull her forward so their lips meet, and it’s awkward, upside-down and hunched over and they’re both smiling just a little too much but Lexa can’t stop herself from thinking, _it’s perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anya's unstoppable snark has met Clarke's immovable deflection.
> 
> EDIT: rereading to get in the headspace to continue the series, and I think this might be my favorite chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven is sorry, and some backstory

Lexa was comfortable, it was another night at the bar and she was in her seat at their usual table. It had gotten to the point where, even if folks were using it, by the time she made it over it was vacant. Her seat was never occupied, either way, people treating it with the reverence of a throne. She had to admit, she did tend to lounge on it like a throne, surveying her subjects and watching them move about the room while she held court.

Regulars would come up and chat, but no one sat without being directly invited. It was an unspoken rule, and she found it amusing that her status in the bar had been increased by Clarke’s presence. If, that first night, she had been concerned about such things, being seen leaving with a bubbly teenager, all her worries were crushed by return visits. The people adored Clarke.

It was hard not to, after all. She was outgoing, teasingly flirtatious, welcoming of everyone who approached her, and really fucking easy on the eyes. She’d even managed to get Quint to apologize!

Lexa had no idea how that one had come about, she’d just seen them in discussion off to the side of the pool tables one evening and, though she watched the interaction in case her services were needed again, she stayed out of it. All she knew was that by the end both were smiling, Quint was nodding sheepishly, and Clarke was laughing. He’d swung by the table briefly to mutter something apologetic to Lexa, and she’d nodded her acceptance, and that was the end of whatever leftover animosity between them.

She didn’t ask Clarke what she’d said, preferring to enjoy the magic of her charisma. It was good to see that she could handle things on her own, that she didn’t need a protector now, and that she could solve issues without throwing a punch, something Lexa still struggled with.

So she lounged on her ‘throne’ and watched the crowds and enjoyed the company, eyes flitting to the doors every so often. Tonight was the night Raven was going to make her appearance, as agreed on. Her concern for the evening was in trying to restrain herself to a support role, no matter how much she knew she would want to interfere.

When the girl finally made her appearance Lexa straightened slightly. She shot a look over to Clarke, waited until they made eye contact, then tilted her head towards the doors. Clarke nodded, and wrapped up her game, accepting her prize with a grin and a wink while Ilian scratched his head trying to figure out how he’d lost _this time_.

She made her way over to the table, taking her own designated seat, and threw an arm around Lexa’s shoulders. “He’s learning, I’m so proud. He actually, almost, stood a chance!” She crowed cheerfully and Lexa couldn’t help but chuckle.

Their moment was interrupted with a cleared throat and awkward half-smile. “Hey Clarke, and…?” She looked to Lexa, eyes pausing on the embrace.

“This is Lexa,” Clarke supplied, nodding for Raven to take the remaining seat at the table, opposite them. Lexa had taken a moment to arrange the stools earlier so the table provided a physical barrier as well as a psychological one.

“I assume you know who I am,” Raven said, and Lexa nodded silently. Raven seemed relaxed, a far cry from Octavia who looked ready to bolt or throw fists the entire conversation.

“I’d like to know what you want out of this conversation,” Clarke said to Raven, sliding her arm off of Lexa to grab her beer and take a drink.

Raven tapped the surface of the table briefly, glancing around to gather her thoughts before she squared her shoulders and nodded slightly to herself. “I want to apologize,” she began, waiting for Clarke’s nod to continue. “I was an ass. I wasn’t fair to you. I know you, I know you wouldn’t have done anything to hurt me. Not on purpose. I was so angry in the moment that I forgot you were… you. I forgot you were my friend. You were just... “ she shrugged helplessly, “At that moment you were the girl my boyfriend left me for without even telling me.”

Clarke nodded again, in the listening sort of way, and licked a drop of beer from her lips. “And after? Why did it take until the video for you to say anything?”

Raven ran a hand through her hair, bit her lip, and winced. “I was a coward. I was hiding from everything related to him since it happened. I didn’t know about anything that happened after I left the dance. Uhm, Harper actually filled me in after she linked me the video. I’d thought…” She let out a strangled sort of sigh.

Lexa could see the gears turning in Clarke’s head and saw the realization hit her with a flinch. “You thought _we were still together after that_?” Her voice was incredulous and furious in equal measure, and Lexa had to agree with that emotional assessment.

“I wasn’t really thinking about it at all,” Raven muttered, picking at a flakey piece of resin on the table top. “There was actually a lot of deliberate ignorance going on…”

Clarke nodded, focused on her drink, tried to steady her breathing. Lexa knew she was counting, knew how tenuous her hold on her temper could be, and was proud of her for maintaining it despite her best friend suggesting that she could knowingly continue being with a liar and cheater.

Raven finally spoke up, “I know the whole thing is Finn’s fault. I don’t blame you for any of it. I’m not mad at you for any of it. Honestly at this point I’m more mad at me than him. He hurt both of us, yeah, but I’m the one that hurt _you_. I fucked up. I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve at least listened. Instead I got mad and let myself wallow in it like some kind of stupid teenager.”

Clarke quirked a half-smile. “You _are_ a teenager,” she pointed out.

“I said a _stupid_ teenager,” Raven countered, matching her smile.

Clarke chuckled at that, and her shoulders relaxed. “Hey, you wanna help me wreck everyone in some tag-team pool?”

Raven’s grin was almost blinding, “Have you been hustling here all summer?”

Clarke smirked and Lexa couldn’t help but grin as well, nodding while Clarke said, “Oh you know it. They’re even expecting it now, and yet still…”

She watched the girls jump off the stools and make their way over to the pool tables, watched as they called next on one clearing out, and then as they did just what they’d set out to do. She knew that they still had important conversations ahead of them, but at that moment enough was forgiven for them to enjoy the evening and seeing Clarke smiling freely with her best friend, well Lexa couldn’t help but smile too.

~~~~~~

“Hey, I just realized,” Lexa started, glancing down at the blonde hair splayed across her chest, “You and Raven went to different schools, how did you guys meet?”

She could feel Clarke’s grin against her skin before she tilted her head and rested her chin on her breastbone. “It’s a kind of funny story, actually. Maybe not, like, haha funny, but it amuses me. So you should know that I’m not actually as goody-goody as people think,” there was a sparkle in her eyes as she said that and Lexa chuckled.

“Well, we did meet in a bar while you’re underage, so I think I’ve got a decent idea of how goody-goody you actually are.”

“Point. Raven and I officially met in the back of a cop car.” The grin on her face widened along with Lexa’s eyes.

“Officially met? So you’d met before as well?” She adjusted her arms around the girl, fingers skating along the bare skin at her lower back where her shirt had ridden up.

“A few times. You see, right around when I was 13 my dad started travelling more for work, so I was left pretty much on my own a lot of the time. I started going out at night, don’t give me that look, I wasn’t doing anything _too_ nefarious.” She tugged her arms closer behind Lexa’s back, trapped between her and the mattress.

“I wasn’t giving a look, please, go on.”

“Sure, _anyways_ , I was basically spending my nights running around town doing graffiti. But, like, pretty stuff. Actually I think the far back fence behind the library still has a unicorn I put up there. Whatever, point is I was running around tagging and there were a few times I ran into another girl. We didn’t really talk but she liked to watch me paint and she’d keep an eye out. It was an unofficial partnership and she saved my butt a couple times.”

“I sense some plot afoot here.”

“Hush. Yes. One night we’d run into each other and she kind of got caught up helping me design a mecha and we were both so distracted that we didn’t even know the cops had shown up until they were shining flashlights in our faces. We tried to run but I swear we were being chased by SuperCop, even my soccer legs weren’t good enough for a getaway.”

“You played soccer?”

“Yeah, until my Junior year when I broke my leg. It’s how I met Octavia, actually. So yeah, we get caught and tossed in the back of the cop car and we finally do introductions. Managed to convince the cop to drop her off at my house and my mom actually just rolled with it. I think that was the last time she was halfway cool. I mean, I was grounded for like the next six months, but Raven was allowed to come over and she wound up spending more time at my place than her’s.”

“Never underestimate the bonds forged in the back seat of a cop car,” Lexa nodded sagely and Clarke giggled.

“Truly. We pretty nearly talked every day after that, this summer has actually been the longest we haven’t been in touch since we met. Like even when we were just running into each other the longest we went without seeing the other was like a week.”

“Y’know there’s something to be said for friendships based on choice rather than forced proximity. Probably why Raven matters more to you than Octavia, all other things being equal, you guys _chose_ to keep interacting.”

Clarke hummed and nodded, “That is surprisingly deep for two in the morning.”

Lexa scoffed, “Two in the morning is the best time to be deep.”

Clarke nodded again and shuffled around so she was slightly hiding her face in Lexa’s chest, “No decent segue for this, uhm, I was… I was wondering what your plans are after the summer’s over?” Her voice got higher and softer as she continued talking.

Lexa shrugged as best she could with Clarke wrapped around her like a boa. “Back to college. I only took the summer off so I could see how Aden was after his first year of high school. I’ve still got two more to go before I graduate.”

“What’s taking you so long to finish?”

“Work, I’m trying to get through with as little debt as I can manage. I’d rather take longer and not give myself a stress ulcer trying to work full time and study full time at the _same_ time.”

“Smart,” Clarke mumbled, rubbing her nose on Lexa’s shirt. “Where… do you go to college?”

“Polis U. It’s close enough to home I can visit on holidays and it’s a good school,” she noticed Clarke tense up slightly and ran her hands up and down her back. “Sup?”

“That’s really great news, I think. Uhm, I’ll be going there in the fall,” she mumbled again and completely hid her face in Lexa’s shirt.

By now Lexa had realized that when Clarke felt vulnerable, which was infrequent, she hid her face. She especially hid her face in Lexa, like she wanted to make up for the lack of eye contact with physical contact, and it was undeniably cute.

“That is great news,” she said softly, pulling the girl more tightly against her.

“Would you want to, I mean, do you think-” Clarke huffed at herself, and Lexa was surprised when she pulled back slightly, propped herself up with her palms on either side of her chest, and looked her right in the eyes as she asked, “D’you think you’d want to keep doing whatever this,” she nodded vaguely at Lexa and herself, “is, when we get to school?”

Lexa blinked, and maintained the locked stare. “Absolutely. I kind of love whatever this,” she mimicked the nod, “is.”

_I kind of love **you**_ , she thought, as Clarke flopped against her and pressed a kiss to her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl I struggled here, Raven doesn't come easy to me and I really wanted to show her mental state on the whole thing. 
> 
> Thoughts? Feelings? Interactions/events y'all want to see in the future?
> 
> And how hype are you that the Summer Fling TM just lost its expiration date? That's something I've been planning since like chapter four.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Light sin, walked in on, Clexaden day out!

This was probably her favorite place in the world, for now at least. Straddling Lexa’s lap, face buried in her neck, arms around her shoulders. One of Lexa’s hands was settled low on her back, keeping pace and encouraging the roll of her hips, the other hand buried between her legs.

She was gripping the back of the couch, nipping and licking at her neck. One hand moved to slip through Lexa’s hair and tilt her head so their lips could meet, but it quickly became Lexa biting and tugging at her bottom lip while she panted. Her head tipped back and Lexa took the chance to suck a mark low on her neck while she cried out to the ceiling. 

Her hips twitched a few more times before she slumped forward, resting her chin on Lexa’s shoulder. Caught up in her post-coital bliss she almost missed the sound of the door opening. Almost.

Her eyes snapped open as she spotted Aden in the doorway. “Uh, hey dude. Didn’t know you were coming over today,” she nudged Lexa’s shoulder slightly with her own in admonishment. 

Aden stared back, eyes narrowing, before a vaguely disgusted look crossed his face. “I’m gonna wait in the hall, let me know when it’s _safe_.” He shot a quick glare to the back of Lexa’s head and Clarke was too busy laughing to say anything.

As soon as the door shut Lexa huffed and slid her hand free from Clarke. “I didn’t know he was coming over either,” she muttered, turning her head to glare at the door.

Clarke got the joy of seeing her startle when she grabbed her hand and licked her fingers clean. She had to suppress a chuckle at the whine the woman tried so valiantly to choke down, giving her a quick peck on the lips before getting up to find some pants. And underwear. And a shirt. Honestly it was a good thing that the couch faced away from the door otherwise Aden was going to have seen a whole lot more of her than any of them really wanted.

~*~

“It’s safe!” Lexa shouted at the door after Clarke came back wearing at least the minimum amount of clothing required. She’d gone and washed her hands and ran a brush through her hair since Clarke seemed to take particular joy in mussing it as much as possible.

“Finally!” Aden said, swinging the front door open dramatically. “You guys need to lock that thing when you’re up to stuff. Like, it’d be weird enough to see Clarke in her birthday suit but I don’t think I’d survive seeing your ass,” he pointed at Lexa with an ill look on his face.

“Neither of us would survive that,” Lexa nodded solemnly while Clarke rolled her eyes.

“You guys act like you’ve never seen a family member nude before.”

They both shot her slightly puzzled looks. “You… have?”

“I have cousins? We went skinny dipping all the time?” She tilted her head at the pair. “Like post-puberty and everything? It’s not weird. It’s a body.”

Lexa nodded slightly, considering, while Aden shook his head, “Okay but like that’s totally different from seeing sex, you have to admit that.”

Clarke nodded, “Fair enough. Catching family having sex is the _actual_ worst.”

Lexa caught the slight shift in her tone at that and felt another piece of the puzzle slot into place. She offered a half-smile and turned back to Aden. “You wanna maybe go out today? Hit the mall or something?”

“Give this place a chance to air out you mean?” He teased, to Clarke’s obvious delight.

“Yeah, sure, whatever, you wanna go or not?” She grumbled, glaring at both of them.

At his eager nod Clarke chuckled, “I’ll drive.”

~*~

They hadn’t been back to the mall since The Incident, but Clarke didn’t let that deter her at all. Now she had two people to spoil and she was excited. Buying stuff for herself was fun, sure, but it was way more enjoyable to shower friends with things they wouldn’t have bought for themselves.

They ambled along the mid-afternoon crowds. Between the three of them they had reason to enter just about every store there was, and despite not _trying_ to buy something from each shop they still wound up with arms covered in bags.

“Clarke, I’m replacing Lexa with you. You’re my favorite sister now,” Aden said with a bright grin as he adjusted the handful of bags he’d slung over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Lexa shot him an affronted look. “I see what my years of loyalty mean to you.”

“What can I say? She bought me. I didn’t even _see_ they had a copy of this game,” he waved the case, a used no-cover copy, in Lexa’s face, “and you _know_ how much I’ve been looking for it!”

Clarke shrugged with a laugh, “I was just browsing. Lexa would’ve seen it if she wasn’t so busy oogling the collector’s editions.”

“They had _art books_ , Clarke. Making of! Character design stuff!” Lexa defended herself, waving her arms dramatically.

“Which you can buy separately online for like nothing, and then you’re not stuck with the huge stupid statues that they always seem to include,” she argued, grinning when Lexa huffed a defeated ‘whatever’ at the both of them.

They settled at a charging lounge to rest for a bit and Lexa got up to get them some coffees from a nearby cafe, saying she wanted to walk without the weight of their purchases for a bit, leaving Clarke and Aden to stretch their legs out.

“Uh, hey Clarke?” Aden’s voice was tentative, a tone she hadn’t caught from him before.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, tilted her head slightly in his direction, but avoided looking at him directly, “Sup?”

“How are you always so… chill? Like, all the time? Like today could’ve been mortifying but you just kinda,” he shrugged and gave her a confused look.

She leaned back in the seat and tilted her head in thought. “I mean… I dunno. Like, mostly it’s just who I am but I guess if I really think about it I’ve always tried to be really genuine, which means not apologizing for who I am. I guess being embarrassed kind of feels like a form of apologizing for myself, like I did something I maybe shouldn’t have and got caught. I can be embarrassed which is like an apology or I can just own it. Like, yeah, I made that choice and did that thing, what of it?”

Aden stared ahead in contemplative silence while Clarke mulled over her words, deciding that they were pretty much the truth. “What about when someone tries to make a big deal of it?”

“Let them. They look like a fool if you just sit there and shrug and ask why they’re so upset. Own your choices and it takes all the power away from them.” She turned to look at him fully before asking, “Having trouble with douchebags from school?”

He nodded silently, still looking ahead, before heaving a sigh. “I tried ignoring them but they keep coming at me.”

“Yeah ignoring them doesn’t actually work,” she nodded, “You’ve got to prove that not only are you unbreakable, but that any time they do come at you they’re going to walk away looking like an idiot. Pro-tip: Don’t say any more than you absolutely have to, it’s really hard to twist words that aren’t there.”

He hummed and scratched his chin, “Alright… Thanks. You really are the better sister.”

She laughed and pulled him sideways into a hug, “Anytime dude.”

~*~

“Having trouble with douchebags from school?”

Lexa froze a couple feet away behind the chairs she’d left Clarke and Aden in. She didn’t want to eavesdrop but she also _really_ wanted to know if Aden was okay. So she compromised and eavesdropped, sipping the caramel frappe she’d gotten herself.

She caught Clarke’s advice and nodded to herself, having seen Clarke employ those tactics to great effect with everyone who wasn’t going to make things physical. As soon as they were done she leaned over the back of the seats, thrusting the coffee tray between them.

“Cocoa for Aden, how you’re drinking that in this heat I don’t understand. Black iced coffee for Clarke, how you drink _black coffee_ is beyond me,” she shot them each a mildly off-put look in turn.

“It’s never too hot for chocolate,” Aden said, followed immediately by Clarke’s “Look just because I eat sugar doesn’t mean I want to drink sugar.”

“Yeah yeah whatever, where do we want to go after this?” She asked as she vaulted over the back of the seat to land between them, getting a smack on either shoulder for threatening to spill all of their drinks. She ruffled Aden’s hair in retaliation and pressed a kiss to Clarke’s jaw, just a little too close to her neck to be anything but teasing.

Clarke grabbed her drink and leaned in close, “I still owe you from earlier, don’t mess it up.” 

“Guys, flirt some other time, _please_ ,” Aden begged from the other side.

“No promises,” Clarke said with a shrug, leaning back and taking a long drink from her coffee.

Lexa looked between the two of them and slumped back in her seat. This summer was turning out a lot better than she’d thought, and even if her brother was having a hard time, he had someone great, someone who’s first thoughts to help didn’t involve punching, to guide him. And Lexa, well she had Clarke in just about every other way, and she was loving it, loving her.

~*~

Clarke chewed on the end of her straw and glanced up from her phone, she’d caught a text from Raven and wanted to reply before she forgot, to see Lexa looking at her. She quirked a brow and watched a gentle, tiny smile wash over her face. 

She’d seen that smile a few times, but always when they’d been alone, usually in bed right before falling asleep. It surprised her to see it in daylight, but left her feeling warm and unable to help herself when she felt an answering smile spread.

_She looks like she loves me_ , she thought, before being slammed full-force with a follow-up thought. _Oh shit, I’m in love with her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FEELS HAVE BEEN CAUGHT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL, FEELS HAVE BEEN CAUGHT
> 
> I mean, let's be honest, they've been there a while, but they were fluttering around, now they're proper caught.
> 
> Also, not sure how this fic became and exploration in interpersonal relations I just wanted to write something a little sexy and a lot angry and now it's... idk. Supportive!Lexa chilled Clarke out like hella.
> 
> Thoughts? Who gets brought around next? Who do y'all want to see? Also! Sin? Y/N? The chapter started the way it did bc I had the vision of Clarke riding Lexa on the couch and Aden walking in and Clarke just being like 'o hey sup'.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy... doesn't show up, but we talk about him a lot, Anya teases Lexa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays you big nerds.

“You know how much I hate being part of the telephone game, so please don’t make me run back and forth on this,” Raven opened with, throwing herself into the booth of the ancient, cash-only diner. “Like I know why you’re not talking, and I support you, but I really should be getting paid for be a courier by now.”

Clarke rolled her eyes, “If I cover lunch will that stop the whining?”

“Oh, well, duh?” She squinted at Clarke like that was the dumbest thing she’d said. “I won’t bitch at the hand that feeds, you know that.”

“Right,” she replied dryly, “So, Oh Messenger, what news will you be shot for today?”

“It’s about Bellamy,” Raven winced, because of course Octavia wouldn’t rope Raven into trying to talk to Clarke to repair their friendship. No, it had to be something about her brother, and wasn’t that a can of worms.

“What’s the issue? I thought he moved out?” Clarke’s brow furrowed as she tried to remember the last plans she’d heard from the siblings, back before school ended.

“Yeah turns out whatever opportunity that was fell through and he’s stuck at home for another... “ She scrunches her face up in thought, “Like two weeks? Anyways apparently their mom is being a bitch about him not quote-unquote _getting over that blonde hussy_ , which, for one thing RUDE she _knows_ your name, and for two, who could get over you? You’re a babe.”

“I am,” Clarke flips her hair over her shoulder dramatically, “But she’s kind of got a point, like, from a really really bitchy heteronormative perspective, we,” airquotes, “ _broke up_ like… six months ago?”

Raven nods and contemplates while they order lunch. “Man I just realized. Your dating life is just… you’re like a walking soap opera.”

Clarke glowers, chewing on the straw in her ice tea, “Elaborate, _please_.”

“Okay so first off there’s that entire,” she gestures widely, “ _thing_ with Finn, which, you HAVE to admit is classic drama.”

Clarke groans and nods and waves for her to continue because, _yes, duh, that is cliche AF drama okay?_

“But then you get this whole… Bellamy thing. Don’t get me wrong, I think it’s legit pretty great, but you’ve had to like… kiss him,” she gags and Clarke shudders.

“We shared a bed once, too. Remember that family vacation they roped me into? His mom’s twisted she put us in the same room.”

“Dude… weren’t you like sixteen?” Raven gapes.

“Yep! I would love to know what kind of drugs she’s on to actually _plan_ to bring her son’s underage girlfriend with them on a vacation and then put them in a room together with one double bed. I bet they’re really good drugs,” she adds wistfully, just in time for the waiter to show up with their meals and give her a raised brow. She shrugs at him and takes a bite of her sandwich.

“Okay, wow, yeah. See? Drama. Soap opera. Wait, shit, I got so sidetracked! The whole point! The whole conversation was supposed to be, he’s still stuck at home and his mom’s breathing down his neck to take a girl out and he’s run out of options. That whole on-again-off-again thing you guys were playing out worked really well but I don’t think she’s going to buy it after you’ve cold-shouldered Octavia so hard.”

Clarke slumped back against her seat, methodically chomping down on her fries. “You sure you can’t beard for him?” She finally asks, knowing the answer but _oh so hopeful_ anyways.

“Babe, I don’t think I’m a good enough actress. I honestly don’t know how you did it so long,” Raven shook her head.

“Honestly? I just acted like I always did and then any time I had to kiss him I thought of puppies. Actually went to the shelter a few time to find some puppies to kiss just so I’d have a good mental catalogue.”

She grinned at Raven’s guffaw and continued to eat, mentally running through her list of female friends and acquaintances who’d be willing to cosy up to a fairly cute, but extremely gay, guy in exchange for whatever summer holiday the Blakes had planned before Bellamy could make his escape.

~~~~~~

“Heyyyyyyy Lexa?” Clarke slides onto the couch, falling sideways into Lexa and crashing them both into the cushions.

Lexa watches her with narrowed eyes, “What?”

“I have a crazy proposition for… not you, but I want your opinion on it,” she props herself up with her elbow beside Lexa’s hip.

“Okayyyy… What and who for and why are you asking me about it?” Eyes still narrowed, slightly more suspicious. Clarke has never asked something of her before, or… even if this just advice, this whole situation is odd.

“Okay so, backstory time. Relevant context I promise. O’s got a brother, Bellamy. We’ve kind of known each other forever, we all went to the same schools and stuff so we’d see each other around but like, they’re a year on either side of me so we didn’t really share classes until high school. Whatever, point is Bellamy,” she pauses, “is super fucking gay.”

Lexa nods, waiting for this to approach something resembling a request.

“Their mom is _really_ disgustingly homophobic.”

Lexa nods again, a twist to her lips that can’t rightly be called a smile.

“I spent basically… forever? Like, always? Whatever I was his beard for like five years. He went to college last year so I finally got to date properly which, _wow_ that was a mistake,” she winces at the realization that her first _real_ boyfriend was a piece of shit.

She shakes her head and continues, “Point is, we had our 100% totally legit breakup right after he went back to school after the holidays, and his mom’s been off his back since because we were… apparently… a really believable couple..?” Her voice gets higher the longer the sentence goes on and the more confused she gets. “Anyway, she won’t believe it if we suddenly get back together again, especially since I haven’t been around O for months. So I’m trying to find him a beard.”

“And to be clear, you are not asking me to be his beard,” Lexa states, brow cocked.

“Absolutely not, you guys wouldn’t be able to sell that relationship to the _blind_. No I was… I was thinking this seems kinda like Anya’s thing?” She’s biting her lip, she’s confident about her assessment but really wants Lexa’s opinion here.

“ _Anya?_ ” 

Clarke has to clamp a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing at the baffled and lost look on Lexa’s face. “Yeah,” she chokes out, “Yeah it really, I think she’d get a real kick out of the whole thing? Like, Bell’s mom is that super passive-aggressive kind of homophobe and she drops snide comments and shit and it’s really… I think Anya would have a blast giving her death glares and shit. And she’s so abrasive and stiff I don’t think it would look weird if they weren’t on the PDA.”

Lexa blinks. “Anya. Beard. Uh… What’s… Bellamy what’s he like..?”

“History nerd, kind of handsome, really good guy, loves his sister more than air,” Clarke shrugs.

“That… You know what? You ask her yourself, we’ll meet at the bar tonight, I’ve got to see this.”

~*~

Anya’s eyes flash along with her teeth, “Oh that sounds… _How_ bitchy can I be to her face?”

Clarke shrugs, smug, looks over at Lexa’s face, her jaw still dropped open at the fact that Anya _seems to be considering this_. “I got REALLY fuckin’ bitchy towards the end there and she just smiled that stepford smile and pretended not to hear me. I think as long as you don’t actually like, punch anyone, you’ll be fine.”

“I can definitely do that,” Anya’s face reminds Lexa of a wolf scenting blood and she shivers a little. “Yeah, yeah this sounds like a way better time than watching you two be all,” she waves her hand at the pair and makes a disgusted face, “affectionate.”

Lexa barks a laugh, “Yeah, figures you’d take passive-aggression over mutual affection, I really should’ve known.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you guys make me want to choke on my own tongue,” Anya defends, “You’re _cute_ together. It’s not right, Lexa. You’re not supposed to be CUTE.”

“I am not cute!” Lexa shouts indignantly, earning not only a very loud snort from the girl next to her, but a lot of turned heads and several disagreeing laughs from the crowd. “I am not cute,” she huffs quieter.

“Of course you’re not cute,” Clarke pats her shoulder only mostly mockingly before resting her chin on it. “You’re _adorable_.”

Lexa grumps and jostles the girl loose, shooting a glare at her, only to get cooed at in return. “I’ll make you sleep on the couch,” she threatens.

Clarke just laughs, catches Anya’s eyes, and then they’re both laughing and Lexa’s _so confused right now_.

Anya catches the helplessly bewildered look in her eyes and laughs harder. “Lex, dude, I don’t think there’s anything Clarke could do that would have you kicking her out of bed. It’s gross.”

Lexa slumps further into her seat, nose level with the table top, muttering, “Fuck off.”

Clarke just laughs harder and Lexa knows Anya’s right and she kind of hates it but mostly loves it, because Clarke is happy and really? That’s all that seems to matter anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody following along with all of Clarke's previous relationship drama? Questions? Comments? Concerns?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sin, I guess, if you want to be crude about it.

Clarke is in love with Lexa.

She’s realized this, internalized it, and tucked it away in a pocket near her heart to keep safe. It’s not that she doesn’t want to be, that she doesn’t want Lexa to know, that she doesn’t want more. She just knows that she’s not ready to tell anyone. It feels precious, like a rare seed, and she wants it to take root in her subconscious before she exposes it to the world. She knows she’s in love, but she wants to be sure it can weather a storm. It’s a brittle fact at the moment.

So she’s not ready to say it, but she shows it. She doesn’t know how to not show it, and doesn’t want to try. Lexa deserves to feel loved, even if she doesn’t know that’s what’s happening. That’s fine. She’ll feel it and that’s plenty. And if her actions earn her a softer look, a tighter hug, a lingering kiss… she thinks maybe Lexa is saying she loves her too.

They hold entire conversations about how they feel, silently, in the middle of the night, curled around each other in bed. Lips on jaws and necks and collarbones, fingers on breasts and hips and thighs. Each touch, no matter how rough or gentle, gripping tight or barely felt, rushed and panting or slowly lingering, conveys the same concept of mutual adoration.

And that’s where Clarke finds herself tonight, laying atop Lexa hip-to-hip, ghosting passes of lips and tongue and teeth working from her mouth to her cheek to her jaw to her neck, pausing for a firmer bite, the one that always makes her moan. Her fingers curl into the sides of her shirt, slide it slowly up her body, follow behind the edge with her mouth to press firm kisses and light nips into the skin revealed. 

She’s slow, tonight, slower than she’s ever been before when she wants Lexa. Past experience has not prepared either of them for this mood that strikes, because when Clarke wants Lexa she’s always wanted her _now_. But tonight, tonight it feels more like she wants her _forever_ and she’s always been a slave to her emotions, so she’s slow.

It’s almost half an hour just to get Lexa’s shirt off but neither of them notice enough to complain. Clarke is too distracted touching, tasting, feeling every inch of the woman in her arms to let either of them care about the passage of time. There’s so much to _do_ that time is irrelevant. It takes as long as it takes.

When they’re both finally naked it feels simultaneously like she’s taken a deep breath, and like all the air has left the room. She kisses her again, long and deep and only parting when her chest claws for oxygen, both of them left panting into the quiet air. She ducks her head down, finds her favorite places on her neck and nips at her collarbones and leaves a bright mark on her breast.

She’s still slow, but her goal is no longer to greedily feel everything she possibly can, so she’s on a mission. She takes the scenic route, diverts to kiss a scar on a rib, a prominent freckle on her belly, the crests of her hip bones, loving how every inch she moves down means the legs on either side spread wider. The anticipation might kill both of them. It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

But finally, centuries later, she lands at the apex of her thighs and wastes no time pressing her open mouth against her. It earns her an arched spine and a keening moan and a hand twisting into her hair. The build-up must have been excruciating because Lexa’s never been this responsive before and Clarke finds another reason to love her.

So she decides to show her, and sets to work with all the passion of someone who truly loves their job, reacquainting herself with every spot that draws a shudder, a shiver, a gasp, a twitch. Finding new spots as well. Finding what pattern makes her breath hitch and hitch and _hitch_ until she’s worried she might pass out. 

She relents only long enough to get her fingers involved and the moan and roll of hips that follows has her setting a languid pace, there’s no breath left in either of them to be frantic. So they meet again and again, her head bobbing as her mouth never moves from her body.

It’s not until she hooks her fingers, finds that familiar spot and _presses_ , drags along it, that Lexa finally gets the release that Clarke’s been building in her for _who even cares how long_.

Clarke stays in place, continuing her motions and attentions at the same pace she’s kept the entire time, drawing it out and gently bringing her back down. It’s not until the hand, still tangled in her hair, releases and nudges her shoulder, that she draws herself back up the way she came, making stopovers at favorite landmarks and nuzzling the valley between her breasts.

Lexa is still breathing hard, eyes a little wide and looking at her with something she thinks might be wonder or awe and Clarke can’t, doesn’t want to, stop the pleased smile that crawls across her face.

It catches her then, that she’s not even sure if she wants Lexa to return the favor. That’s always been what they’ve done, they both get off at least once. But tonight? Tonight she almost feels like she did, and though Lexa’s touches and her face when she comes usually light a fire under her skin… tonight she feels more like banked coals, warm and steady, and she doesn’t want that feeling to go away.

So when Lexa slides a hand down to her hip, to her usual goal of giving Clarke something to ride when her own body is still too slack to function, Clarke instead grabs her hand and twines their fingers together, pulling it back up to kiss the back of Lexa’s hand.

It earns her a slightly confused look, to which she shrugs and smiles and tucks her forehead into the crook of Lexa’s neck, fully content. She pulls back after a moment to press a sweet kiss to her lips, pull the blankets up over them, and then retakes her place, warm and loving and loved.

~*~

Lexa has no idea what just happened. Well, obviously she _knows what just happened_ , but the why of it all is elusive. She tilts her head to rest her cheek against Clarke’s hair, still catching her breath while her body cools.

It hadn’t exactly come out of nowhere, she’d noticed Clarke being more gentle, more affectionate, more attentive. There had been a buildup to tonight, looking back, in careful caresses and little gestures of care. Tonight was merely when it overflowed, pouring from Clarke until it filled Lexa to the brim.

And she does feel full. Of what, she’s not sure. Warmth, certainly. And she feels cared for. Like she matters to someone. But she doesn’t know what Clarke meant, not for certain, so she’s reluctant to call it love, even if she can’t think of anything else that it could’ve been. It seems wrong to assign it a label that hasn’t been given.

But she accepts it for what it is and how she feels about it, and curls her arms around Clarke and tugs her tighter against her body, sighing and relaxing into her warmth.

It’s quiet, the sounds of traffic drifting in through the cracked window with the breeze. It’s quiet and it’s warm and she’s in bed with a beautiful woman who she’s in love with. It’s a really good night.

“Lex?” She hears, said quietly from somewhere down by her heart.

She hums in response, her hand drifting up to run fingers through the blonde hair splayed across her chest.

“I just realized,” she starts, voice still soft in the night air, “I don’t really know anything about your family or like… what are you even studying in college?” A pause, and then quieter, “I’d really like to.”

She’s startled by this. They’d avoided really asking or offering information that wasn’t relevant to whatever was going on. The basics of their lives was there, and she knew a fair amount about Clarke simply due to the drama that had driven her to the bar that night. But thinking on it, there is a disparity, Clarke doesn’t really know so much about her, and it makes her a little sad, a little uncomfortable.

“Family… well you know Aden’s my brother, but uh… He lives with our uncle. Our parents died when I was 15 and Gus got custody, he’s my dad’s brother. We don’t really have any other family, some distant cousins I think but there was estrangement and divorces and shit so… yeah it’s just the three of us.” It doesn’t hurt to talk about, a faint echo of a sad sort of longing, so her voice is simply soft and quiet out of respect for the mood of the evening.

“I’d like to meet him, he’s done a good job with Aden,” she can feel the smile pressed into her chest, “So have you.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles into her hair. “For college… Business management. My uncle owns a gym, he wants me to take over after I graduate,” she pauses, then chuckles a little, “I think he thought it would motivate me to finish school faster but it may have done the opposite.”

She feels more than hears the breathy laugh Clarke lets out at that, smiles at it, and kisses the top of her head. The air settles between them, quiet conversation done for now, for tonight, but neither settle in to sleep.

They stay, wrapped around each other in the stillness and darkness and silence and feel all the warmer for the things that aren’t said. The breeze ruffles the edges of the blankets, Clarke sighs deeply, like she’d forgotten to breathe. Lexa runs a hand down her back, traces the dip of her spine, the curve of her waist, just to feel her close.

For now, this is enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just like with the last chapter that was basically all a sex scene (chapter 2) this again feels extremely important to physically show how their dynamic has changed. 
> 
> Also, Lexa is confused by Clarke's love but what else is new?


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finn again!

She’s not sure when the shift happened, the change from using each other to caring, then slipping so easily into loving. It startles and calms her in turns, leaving her feeling off-kilter and unsure how to proceed. She knows she wants Clarke, knows they have vague plans to continue whatever _this_ is that they’re doing after the summer ends. She knows she has her right now, knows that in more ways than one neither of them have anyone else.

She’s okay with it all, for the minute. It’s still summer. Real life hasn’t invaded too terribly, and Clarke’s friendships are healing. Raven’s shown up a couple more times at the bar, and the two of them have met up at a diner for lunch here and there, and she’s happy to see them once again choosing each other. 

Clarke’s been lighter, brighter, since they reconnected. There’s still some wariness in their interactions, but they both seem to have decided to ignore whatever awkward feelings remain, leaving the whole end of the school year as water under the bridge.

She’s still waiting, though, for something to happen. Life has settled again into their easy rhythm and it feels like every time they pause to realize it, shit happens.

So it’s not as much of a surprise to her, in her cynical wariness, as it probably should be when the door to the bar opens and a red-faced stumbling drunk _Finn_ walks in. 

She rolls her eyes, balls up her condensation-soaked napkin, and hurls it at the back of Clarke’s head. When she whips around to see what’s up, Lexa nods towards the bar where Finn’s aggressively ordering. She sees Clarke tense, scoff, roll her eyes, and then close them with a pained look, like him simply existing nearby is chafing.

When Clarke looks her way with an eyebrow raised to ask ‘what do we do?’ she shrugs, ‘whatever you want’. So Clarke nods and turns back to her game, for once she’s on the losing end of things and she looks equal parts annoyed and impressed, Ilian really has been practicing. 

Lexa’s totally absorbed in the flow of the game and so, fails to notice a new presence near her until it rudely slumps into the other chair at the table. The only other chair at _their_ table, Clarke’s chair.

The glare she shoots at him is hot and only burns harder when she sees that it is, in fact, _Finn_ whose broken the unspoken rules and invaded her space without a word. She tilts her chin down, knowing it makes people feel like a rabbit in front of a snarling wolf.

It’s either credit to his constitution or, and she feels this is much more likely, his level of inebriation, that he doesn’t shrink from her. He smirks. She almost snarls.

He looks her up and down, it takes a few passes, his eyes go in and out of focus, before he pushes his floppy hair out of his face. “So you’re the new fling, huh?” His tone is condescending and really what high horse does he even think he rode in on?

“You’re the lying, cheating asshole,” she counters in a low growl, teeth flashing.

He waves off her accusation, glances to the side, catches sight of Clarke and locks on. “Y’know she really fucked around after we broke up. Like… I was kinda worried she was gonna catch something yanno? At parties it was whoever would even look twice at her, and she went to a lot of parties.” His tone is casual, like he’s not calling her a slut, like he’s worried, but there’s an underlying smugness to it.

“I wouldn’t think you’d _care_ all things considered,” she says, still watching him watching Clarke.

“Of course I care. I love her,” and the way he says it, he means it, and if that’s what he thinks love is she can’t help but feel sorry for him. “You won’t last. She’ll come back to me. I was her first.” He looks back at her with that, eyes sharper than they were a minute ago.

She almost laughs. “You think that means _anything_? You honestly think she cares about you, enough to forgive you, _just_ because you were the first person she fucked?” She’s incredulous enough to almost forget to glare.

He bristles at her questioning, “I _know_ it. She loves me too. I know she does. She was just hurting, I understand. And then she came _here_ ,” he looks around with disgust, he hasn’t touched anything here except the floor and the chair, “and got caught up with _you_. She’ll see soon enough she doesn’t belong here. You’ll fuck up and she’ll come back to me.”

And now she does laugh. A harsh bark at first, simply stunned by his delusion, before it transforms into deep belly-laughs and then a choking, wheezing laugh. It gathers quite a few looks and some of the more sober regulars shift to stand closer to the table, eyes on the newcomer.

She wipes tears from her eyes and controls herself enough to catch his glare, he’s like a puppy trying to guard a toy. “Have you looked at her here? Actually looked? No, of course not, you’re too self-absorbed to see what’s right in front of you. Clarke belongs wherever the hell she wants to. That’s who she is. If you ever saw anything in her other than her body you’d know that. But you don’t. You’re just a sad child because the girl you want to fuck doesn’t want anything to do with you!”

He stands suddenly, fists clenched and shoulders hunched. “I bet you don’t even know anything about her.”

“ _Boy_ , I am not about to argue with you. This is all such fuckin’ high school drama and I am too old for this bullshit. I really don’t give half a fuck what you think about me and what I know or don’t know. It’s,” she stands, “none,” a step towards him, “of your,” she grabs the front of his shirt, “business,” she snarls in his face.

She releases her grip when she sees Clarke approach him from behind. “Get the fuck outta here Finn,” she says in monotone, just loud enough for them to hear above the conversational din that has stalwartly refused to die down in light of the drama.

He whips around, whole demeanour shifting from rage to supplication, “But-”

“Out, Finn, before I make you,” her eyes are cold and hard and there’s a tension to her stance that Lexa hasn’t seen before and honestly she’s not sure what to make of it.

He chuckles, like she was joking, “C’mon babe.” He reaches a hand out to grab her shoulder and both he and Lexa are surprised when Clarke grabs his wrist in one hand, his shoulder in the other, and spins him around with his hand hiked up against his back, nearly to his neck.

His yelp of pain is extremely satisfying and Clarke twists just a little harder, “I warned you. You do not get to decide to come into my life, talk shit to the people I care about, and treat me like some _fucking prize_. I _do not love you_ and I _never did_ and I don’t know where you got such a fucking STUPID idea from.”

As she’s ranting she’s pushing him forward, marching him to the doors. Ryder holds it open for her and she shoves Finn, hard. After a moment where he almost crashes to his knees she says, “If I ever see you again I’m breaking your nose,” before she turns back inside. Ryder shuts the door and stands guard to make sure the boy leaves.

She shakes her head, shakes out her hands, rolls her shoulders, and strides to the bar to accept the fresh beer the bartender shoves towards her, accepting it with a muttered ‘thanks’, before she goes back to their table.

And Lexa’s just standing there, a little in awe, a lot turned on, mouth agape. She blinks dumbly a few times and her mouth starts working before her brain does because the first thing she says is, “When did you learn self defense?”

Clarke looks amused by the question, so it must’ve been only mostly stupid and not entirely lackwitted like she feared. “When I got boobs. My dad was worried about me,” she shrugs and downs a full third of her pint before setting it down. “Are you just gonna stand there and gape or do I get a victory kiss?”

Lexa jolts a bit, “Well it was a fairly good show… And I didn’t even have to punch anyone… So I suppose a prize is in order.”

Clarke rolls her eyes and grabs the front of Lexa’s shirt, yanking her over and pulling her in for a kiss a little too hot and wet for the middle of their regular bar. She doesn’t let up until a voice that faintly registers as Artigas shouts out ‘get some!’

She steps back, wipes some transferred lipgloss from her own lips, and quirks a smile at Clarke, “Did you actually hear anything he said?” 

“Oh I caught the whole thing,” she shrugs, “proved every point I’d tallied against him. Liar. Cheater. Douchebag,” another shrug, “I think the more important thing is that I also heard what you said.” A soft smile turns up the corners of her mouth and she grabs Lexa’s hands in a gesture that feels intimate, emotionally.

“I uh- I was just… That is... “ she shrugs helplessly, “S’the truth?”

Clarke tugs her closer by her hands and rests their foreheads together. “From you, that means everything. I don’t know what I did to deserve someone like you in my life.”

And now the moment feels _far_ too intimate, emotionally, for the back end of their regular bar, crowded with people they know, but she can’t stop herself when she says, “You’re you, that’s all you had to do.”

Clarke catches her eyes, a scrutinizing gaze to counter Lexa’s own open one. She searches her face for a minute before seeming to decide something, then pulls her closer still for a far less steamy but far more devastating kiss.

In that moment Lexa knows she’ll be absolutely destroyed if she and Clarke don’t last, and she can’t bring herself to care in the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey does it count as mutual pining if they're basically acting like a couple and have done damn near everything except actually just say 'i love you wanna be my gf?' even tho they are both 90% the other loves them just as much? Cuz... I legit don't know. 
> 
> Also I ALMOST had Finn punched in this one but then Clarke was like 'nah, nah I got this'
> 
> Thoughts? Emotions? Concerns?
> 
> [Also here's my tumblr come and ask me stuff or yell at me I don't care INTERACT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THESE IDIOTS!](https://theplaguebeast.tumblr.com/)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abby again. Many emotions.

“My dad’s coming home tomorrow.”

Lexa’s head snaps around to see Clarke’s expression. Her tone is… light, but not as thrilled as Lexa would’ve expected, given how much she clearly misses her dad. She reaches out her arm and wraps it around her shoulder, pulling her closer.

“You don’t sound thrilled,” she says cautiously, because she knows Clarke _is_ thrilled, but that she’s also dealing with some other aspect of this that Lexa doesn’t know about. But she _wants_ to know, she wants to help with whatever is going to happen.

“I am, but,” there it is, “I gave…” a sigh, “I gave my mom an ultimatum,” she swallows, “that if she hadn’t told him, by the time he got back,” she squeezes her eyes, “That I would.”

And there it is. And if that isn’t the perfect thing to ruin a homecoming then she doesn’t know what is. Because _wow_. That’s it, that’s all she’s got. Wow.

And suddenly Lexa realizes. “That’s why you were antagonizing her with me, at the start of summer.”

She feels Clarke nod and sigh. “She was trying to hide from what she’d done and what I’d said and kept acting like everything was the same as it ever was. So I started bringing people around to remind her, but she just ignored them,” she chuckles a little, “You, you she could not ignore. You were exactly who I needed…” she trails into a thoughtful silence. “You actually wound up being basically perfect.”

Lexa’s pretty sure she’s not talking about her role in the revenge-needling plot anymore. She pulls her tighter, “So, your dad’s coming home. Has she told him?”

A shrug, “I don’t know. I need to find out. That’s only going to happen face to face. Will… Would... “ she tucks her head down, voice going soft, “Will you come with me?”

“Of course, you only had to ask.”

~*~

Clarke stares at the house in front of her. She hasn’t moved her hands from Lexa’s hips, still settled in behind her on the bike. She didn’t want to drive here, didn’t want a reminder of her dad while she goes to confront the woman who broke ( _will break?_ ) his heart. So she rode with Lexa, clinging to her back the whole way and trying to draw strength from her.

She sits, and reaches down inside to the absolute fury she started bottling up when she walked in that day, home early from school because _all of her friends were avoiding her_ , and saw her with _who the fuck even knows_ because it _wasn’t her dad_ and all she could do was turn around and drive back to school and barricade herself in the art room.

The next time they spoke she told her, she told her in no uncertain terms, that if she didn’t tell her dad what she’d done, what Clarke had seen _at least_ that she was going to do it. He deserved to know the truth. Even if it killed her she was going to make sure he knew. 

Now it was time to find out if she was, as she suspected, going to be the one to see his heart _shatter_ , because she’d never seen someone love anyone the way her dad loved her mom. And she’d thought, all her life, that her mom loved him just as much. What a lie. What a fucking lie. What else did she lie about?

Finally, she swings her leg over, Lexa follows quickly, a hand pressed to her lower back. Stability offered and accepted. She unzipped her jacket, it felt constricting around her chest and she wanted to be able to breathe. They reach the door, she doesn’t knock, just opens it up and knows that Abby is home because it isn’t locked. A small favor, because if she had to do this at the hospital she absolutely would have.

“We need to talk!” She doesn’t shout, but her voice carries through the empty house. The door is still open, neither of them move to close it while they stand in the front hallway. It feels less stifling with the sunlight and breeze coming through.

“Must you be so dramatic?” Abby’s voice comes from the living room, followed by the woman herself. She’s not glaring, but the idea of a glare is firmly on her face. She looks at the two of them, like she can barely believe her daughter is standing there, looking like that, with the woman that she’s _still with_.

“Must you be a bitch?” She counters hotly, then immediately follows up with, “Dad’s home tomorrow.”

Abby shifts, now refusing to look at either of them, crosses her arms. “I’m aware. I didn’t know you knew.”

“He told me, seemed surprised I didn’t know. What have you been telling him?” Her tone is accusatory and she can feel a snarl trying to take over her face. She counts.

Abby chews on her words, she still won’t look at them. “That you’ve been with friends,” she finally decides on, ignoring Clarke’s scoff, “that I haven’t seen much of you the last month.”

It’s true, Clarke hasn’t even been in the neighborhood since she’d left, and she’s been ignoring every call and text, few though they were, as well. “And?” She demands after the silence stretches too long.

She stares at her mother, watches as she shifts onto her heels, left to right and back, picks at a loose thread on her sleeve where her crossed arms touch. Watches as she remains silent. And she knows. She knows for sure now. 

She breathes it out, almost disbelievingly, “You’re such a selfish bitch.”

That startles her, Abby’s head whipping around to lock onto her daughter, mouth falling open. Before she can even begin to counter that, argue it in some way, like there’s _any_ argument possible, Clarke jumps back in.

“You are! You’re so fucking selfish to do what you did, and you’re a selfish _fucking bitch_ for making me do your dirty work,” she snarls, “I bet you felt relieved when I said I’d tell him. I bet you were _happy_ you didn’t have to be the one to break him.” She chokes, on rage, on sorrow, on the knowledge that her mother is not the woman she thought she was.

She feels Lexa’s hand on her shoulder, it helps her bite back her angry tears, her mother doesn’t deserve them. She leans into her touch, takes a shaky breath, waits to see if her mother is going to say _anything_ in response.

The silence stretches before Abby finally, weakly, pathetically, says, “I wanted to tell him face to face.”

Clarke, for a moment, just a fraction of a moment, almost forgets who her mother really is, she almost believes her. It’s gone just as quickly as it happens and she shakes her head. “No you didn’t. That’s harder. You wanted the easy way. You wanted to not face it at all. Because you _know_ that he won’t confront you. He’ll do what I did, he’ll take his shit and leave. I really hope you like being alone.”

She spiteful, feels like she’s earned the right to be. From how Lexa’s still holding her, she thinks she has. She blinks hard, knows she’s going to sob later, but for now she’s too angry to let that happen.

“I really fucking hope,” she starts, after she’s gotten control of herself, “that you realize exactly how badly you’ve fucked up. Because I am telling him, and I don’t care if it destroys us both. It’s your fault,” she blinks hard again, bites her lip, “I’m getting the rest of my stuff the last week of august. I don’t want to see you when I do.”

That’s all the goodbye she’s going to give, Lexa seems to know that as well, so they turn and head back out to the bike. They’re just about settled on it when Abby appears in the doorway. She looks like she wants to say something, maybe apologize, maybe berate her for her attitude. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t _care_.

So she tugs herself closer to Lexa, rests her head between her shoulderblades, and all but begs, “Take me home.”

~*~

Clarke is curled into her, well, she’s curled into herself but resting atop her. Her knees are tucked up to her chest and her arms are wrapped around her head and it looks almost like she’s trying to physically hold herself together. Lexa offers her support in the form of extra arms around her, holding her tight against her chest. If she can just hold her close enough…

She wouldn’t know that Clarke was crying if she couldn’t feel the wet spot on her shirt, and she wouldn’t know she was almost sobbing if she couldn’t feel how ragged her breathing was. But they’re so close, so she knows, and she holds her and lets her be.

She’s furious, and doesn’t know what to do with all her anger. The looks Abby had given her, the _scorn_ she’d shot at them, at her own child, from her _oh so high horse_. She didn’t know what made that woman think she was so much better than her, especially given the circumstances.

If given the chance, she’d probably decide everyone’s worth based solely on how they treated Clarke. It’s a slightly startling thought but one she recognizes as coming from her utterly lovesick state. But that’s a measure that seems to have become the most important one of late, and Abby has fallen _disgustingly_ far below the mark of ‘basic human decency’.

It makes her rage simmer and she wants nothing more than to go and kick her into her own damn pool. Preferably dry. She’s got to get a better hold on those violent thoughts.

She’s jerked from her borderline wallowing by Clarke shifting, her arms loosening from around her head, blonde hair coming to rest properly against her chest. Her cheeks are dry and she wonders how she managed that because her shirt is almost soaked. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are blotchy but there’s no other trace of the tears she _knows_ were pouring out moments ago.

She squeezes her shoulders, rests her chin on her head. She wants to say something, wants to offer something, the urge to do _something_ is clawing out of her throat and she doesn’t know what’s about to come out of her mouth, a weirdly common occurrence since meeting Clarke.

Whatever it is, she never finds out, because the moment she opens her mouth she hears Clarke’s quiet, but solid, “I love you.”

Her mouth snaps shut again and she looks down at the woman in her arms, not tucked against her chest like she’d thought she would be, not looking vulnerable like she thought she would be, but staring up at her with conviction and a solid understanding of her own mind. They lock eyes and she understands, that Clarke didn’t care if she could or would say it back, that she just wanted to be sure that _Lexa_ knew it.

It startles her. That even with everything happening and the heartache she’s suffering from _right now_ she just, just wanted Lexa to _know_.

So it’s easy, and true, when she says, “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I legit reread my whole fic to be sure I wanted to do this for this chapter and yeah. I did. Finally cleared up exactly what Lexa's purpose was at the beginning of the story which is funny because _I don't plan my stories this is all on the fly_.
> 
> I almost cried at the end. What's with this story and making me almost cry at my own writing? That feels weak.
> 
> _Did any of you cry?_
> 
> I legit feel emotionally wrung out trying to bring myself along with Clarke's state on this one like damn.
> 
> [Come talk to me on Tumblr I don't bite](https://theplaguebeast.tumblr.com/)


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bar, calm before the storm.

Clarke is laughing. It’s quiet, almost muffled behind her beer glass. She can’t stop, though, because Lexa looks _so incredibly uncomfortable_. Part of her wants to come to her rescue but the rest of her _really_ wants to see how this plays out.

They’d gone to the bar after their mutual confession, deciding that a return to normalcy would do them both well to prepare for the absolute shitstorm on the horizon. So they’re there, and Clarke’s at the pool tables and watching Lexa from the corner of her eye and trying not to absolutely lose her shit.

Artigas is playing her and he’s struggling not to laugh as well, but doing a better job of it. She wouldn’t know if she hadn’t seen the moment he’d noticed, they’d locked eyes and she’d clamped a hand over her mouth and he’d clenched his jaw and they’d shared a look of ‘wait and see’.

So they’re watching carefully, pretending not to notice, as a girl they’ve seen only a handful of times in the bar delicately touches Lexa’s forearms, leans too close, bats her lashes, bites her lip, _giggles_ at whatever Lexa splutters out next.

It’s not that she enjoys Lexa being uncomfortable, per se, but that it’s _such_ a far cry from her cocky, confident swagger from that first night that she can’t… She can’t bring herself to interfere. It’s a rare experience, to see her so off-kilter and to not be the cause of it. It’s hilarious, and she’s had a bad day and about to have a worse one so she takes her comedy when it falls into her lap. 

Or Lexa’s lap, since the girl seems hellbent on invading her personal space and Lexa’s trying to subtly block her by bringing an arm between them and resting it on the table but that seems to only bring her attention to her arms and she starts tracing a tattoo and Clarke is seriously going to lose it if this keeps up.

She catches Artigas’ eye again, flicks her gaze to Lexa, quirks a brow, “Think she’s gonna bolt?”

“She’s too polite, she’ll sit there and suffer as long as it takes,” he chuckles. “You’re being very rude, you know, leaving her to the wolves like this.”

Clarke shrugs, “It’s not my fault she’s hot. I’m surprised this doesn’t happen more, honestly.”

Artigas gives her a look. “Everyone here knows she’s your’s. Except that girl, apparently. They respect both of you too much to try anything.”

She’s a bit startled by that, the idea that she’s earned the respect of the regulars. “Hey wait, is that why no one hits on me anymore?”

Another Look. “Yeah. Duh.”

“Huh.” She’s a bit dumbfounded. That’s never been enough, respect for a partner, to get _anyone_ to back off of her before. She didn’t necessarily mind it when she was ‘dating’ Bellamy, in fact it was just about the only reason she even knew she was attractive. But after, even if she straight up said ‘I have a boyfriend’ well… She’d still have to shut them down with a biting ‘not on your life’ or similar.

She’s so distracted by her thoughts that she almost misses Lexa standing abruptly, downing the rest of her beer. She looks over at Clarke with a hint of desperation and she takes pity on the older woman, nodding her over. The relief that washes over her is almost enough for Clarke to feel guilty for letting things play out, almost.

She makes it over to the pool table in a few long strides, comes up behind Clarke, wraps her arms around her waist and buries her face in her neck. “Why?” she whines.

Clarke chuckles and traps her hands against her abdomen with her own palms. “I could ask you the same thing. You’re usually much better at shaking them,” she teases.

Lexa huffs, breath skating across her shoulder. “I’m not exactly on my A-game right now. You see, a pretty girl told me she loves me today and it’s got me a bit distracted.”

“Oh? A pretty girl? What’s she like?”

She feels Lexa’s smile against her skin. “Blonde, blue eyes, _amazing_ curves,” a hand slips along the slope of her waist down to her hip, “smart, funny, kinda rabid when she’s mad though.”

Clarke snorts and tips her head back against Lexa’s shoulder, “Sounds like a catch. How’d you get so lucky?”

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” she grins and presses a kiss to her neck. “Get back to your game, I’m going to lurk a bit, hope she catches the hint.”

Clarke’s eyes flick over to where the girl sits abandoned, staring at them with more than a little heat. She pauses for a moment, really looks, and then almost laughs again. “Lexa… I think you might have made her _more_ interested.”

Lexa’s head shoots up, she catches the girl’s eyes and they watch as she looks the pair up and down and _fucking winks_. “Oh god, she looks like she wants to eat you alive!”

Now Artigas snorts, “You guys are better than cable, I’m cancelling my package, I just need to come down here more often. It’s cheaper anyways,” he adds as an afterthought.

Lexa sticks her tongue out at him like the mature adult she is and Clarke detangles from her long enough to take her shot. “You don’t know the half of it, Art.”

He raises a curious brow at her but she just shrugs and shakes her head. He nods and eyes the pool table, he’s actually getting to play for once, the entertainment distracting Clarke enough.

Clarke turns to Lexa, a thoughtful look on her face, “Would you ever want to have someone join us?”

Lexa looks like she’s been hit in the face, eyes jumping wide and mouth falling open. “I… Is… Have you…? Would _you_ want that?”

Clarke taps her sternum, “I asked first. Does the idea alone make you uncomfortable?”

She watches her run a hand through her hair, eyes narrowing in that way that means she’s thinking a little too deeply for a bar at midnight. After a long silence she nods, “Yeah, it does. Not sure why though.”

Clarke shrugs, “Sex and intimacy are a big deal. That’s fine.”

Artigas is dutifully pretending he can’t hear a word they’re saying, but Clarke has the feeling he’s going to follow up this conversation with her later, his curiosity knows no social bounds.

Lexa eyes Clarke, “But would _you_ want to?”

“It’s fun, but that’s all,” she shrugs again and lines up a shot. “Not worth any drama over, honestly. Plus I’ve never been anything other than the third party, so I don’t know how that would change things.”

She watches Lexa process this information, her own lips pressed together to stop a teasing smile. Lexa’s never expressed anything but mild curiosity at her romantic or sexual past, so seeing her chewing over the new knowledge is… entertaining.

After a silence that goes on almost too long she raises a brow, “Problem?”

Her slightly warning tone jars Lexa from her reverie and she shakes her head rapidly, “No, no, just… re-evaluating some assumptions I’d made a long time ago. About you.”

She feels her lips curling into a smirk and she turns, propping her hip against the pool table, “Assumptions? Do tell.”

Now Lexa looks almost as uncomfortable as she did when she was being aggressively hit on, but this time there’s a blush blooming on her cheeks. “You’ve never done anything to make me think so but I guess just based on… your age? Probably. Uh, that you weren’t really… experienced?” She pauses and bites her lip, “An’ I know Finn said some shit about that but I also don’t really put stock into anything that comes out of his mouth so…” She shrugs helplessly.

Clarke shakes her head with a small smile, “Nah, he was right. I went pretty off the rails for like, all of spring. Felt like I was making it up to myself or something. Whatever,” she shrugs, eyes the pool table and then eyes Artigas and then takes her next couple shots. 

Lexa steps closer and drops her forehead to the back of her shoulder, mumbling, “Y’know I’m not judging, right?”

Clarke reaches a hand up to tangle into her hair, “I know. I wasn’t worried about that at all, I was just giving you shit.”

She huffs against her, pinches her side and wraps her arms around her tight when she squeals and tries to dance away. Her fingers dig into her sides and she’s tickling until they’re both almost falling on the floor, Clarke with laughter and Lexa with the effort of holding Clarke upright.

Artigas rolls his eyes at their antics. “I liked you better when you watched from your table,” he says to Lexa, a playful glare on his face.

She rolls her eyes at him, “Tough titties, you’re stuck with me tonight. I refuse to face that girl alone.”

He points an accusatory finger at her, “You’ve gone soft. Look at you. It’s ridiculous, I don’t even know who you are anymore!” He laments melodramatically, much to their amusement.

“Art,” Clarke starts, side-eyeing Lexa, “She’s always been soft. She’s just really good at hiding it.”

Lexa huffs, “Well I _used_ to be good at hiding it.”

“I may have made it my life’s mission to let everyone see exactly how mushy you really are,” Clarke says nonchalantly.

“I may be okay with that,” Lexa admits quietly, pressing a kiss to Clarke’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They needed a little emotional downtime before Shit Hits The Fan. And I had the idea of someone hitting on Lexa and her just... BSODing because she hasn't had to deal with that since she started her thing with Clarke and honestly before that she wasn't really known for turning ladies down.
> 
> Then the rest of this happened and honestly I don't even know. I cannot describe to you guys how much I _have no idea what's going to happen_ when I start writing a chapter. I just, there's a concept of an interaction or thought and that's where I start and then the rest _just happens_ okay?
> 
> Anyways, [hit me up on Tumblr](https://theplaguebeast.tumblr.com/), I'm always happy to discuss this (18 au) and my other fics, and thoughts on Clexa in general, or to give other fic recs. Really, I just like interacting with y'all!


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jake's back!
> 
> Also, the last chapter!

“Daddy!”

He doesn’t have more than a moment to brace himself before Clarke has crashed into him, leaping up enough to wrap her arms around his neck and drag him forward. Lexa watches as he staggers, swinging his own arms around her before hefting her back up off the ground in a proper bear hug.

“Kiddo!”

She buries her face in his chest, clinging, “Thanks for letting us pick you up. And for being cool with Lexa tagging along.”

He runs a hand through her hair and kisses her forehead, “Your face is the one I wanted to see the most. And I wanted to meet Lexa properly anyways.” He glances at her over his daughter’s head and she nods, shuffling her hands into her pockets.

“Nice to see you sir,” she offers up a hand after a moment, feeling like a shake would be a good idea. He’s a good guy, and he’s about to get some bad news, so she should probably be nice.

He nudges Clarke until she releases her grip on him, then eyes the offered hand. He takes it just long enough to pull her into a hug almost as overbearing as Clarke’s had been. “Thank you for looking after her,” he says quietly, giving one last squeeze before releasing Lexa with a clap on her shoulders.

She must look dumbstruck because Clarke is doing a very poor job of not giggling at her. “C’mon Dad, let’s get your luggage and then I’m taking you to lunch!”

He grins and points the way to baggage claim, the two women trailing behind to share a look, Lexa offering a quick rub on her upper arm in support. Clarke nods and swallows and Lexa sees for the first time the mask she’d almost destroyed, watches as she slips into the role of the good and happy daughter.

~*~

Clarke feels sick. She feels sick and she knows it’s not going to get better any time soon. So she sucks it up and does what she’s best at. She fakes it. 

Not to say she’s not genuinely thrilled to have her dad back. She hates when he’s away for long, and this time was just… the worst. In every way possible. She wants to pretend that everything is perfectly fine for as long as she can. So she does, and between his exhaustion and the time and distance and everything she thinks maybe he can’t tell she’s faking.

It’s bittersweet, she doesn’t want him to worry, but wishes that someone would notice. Well, someone other than Lexa. She thinks Lexa would always notice.

She catches her eyes in the rearview mirror, gets an encouraging little smile that bolsters her own, and then resumes catching up with her dad. They hardly managed to speak while he was away, service was spotty at best and his free time was almost nonexistant. 

She tells him the basics, there was a falling out with her friends, she met Lexa when she was out, they started spending time together, Lexa let her crash at her place. She avoids any incriminating details, she’d like to get through today without her dad realizing that they’re a couple because she really doesn’t want him to threaten her, no matter how much or little he actually means it.

At the diner they’re regaled with stories from his time abroad, anecdotes about pranks and misadventures, tangents about ideas he had and what made inspiration strike, and one story she’ll have to make him repeat involving a camel, a sinkhole, and a jury-rigged backhoe. 

She suggests they take a walk, to stretch his travel-legs and let their food settle. He’s game, spending time with his daughter is one of his favorite things, so they set off down the block vaguely in the direction of a park.

She gets quieter as they walk, because this was the plan, and she won’t be able to stop herself when it comes time. He notices, and rests a hand on her shoulders, casting a concerned glance to Lexa who just shakes her head.

When they reach the park and seat themselves on a bench, Lexa settles with her back to a tree not too far away, Clarke knows that it’s time.

~*~

Lexa pulls out her phone, slouching against the bark. She’s far enough away to at least pretend to give them privacy, but close enough that she’ll be there the moment Clarke needs her. She watches them from the corner of her eye and has to bite the inside of her cheek when she sees the tears start rolling down Clarke’s cheeks.

It’s the first time she’s _seen_ her cry, she realizes, just a moment before it’s hidden against her dad’s shirt. She’s gripping onto the front with both hands, face pressed against his chest while his arms wrap around her in mildly confused concern. He casts another quick glance to Lexa who just shakes her head again. Clarke will tell him, it’s not her place.

~*~

She realizes even as she’s clutching him like a child that this is just another reason her mother didn’t want to tell him. Why it’s easier if it’s her. Because she’s crumbling just building up to it and he will _always_ take care of her before he takes care of himself. And that makes things easier for Abby, and worse for everyone else.

It’s that spark of rage that pulls her out of her tears, gives her the chance to compose herself just enough, _just_ enough to pull back and look him in the eyes when she says, “Mom’s cheating on you.”

~*~

She sees him stiffen, a stricken look crossing his face, sees more tears pour down Clarke’s, and then they’re clinging to each other, trying to hold the other together long enough for the shock of it all to pass.

She thinks she should feel voyeuristic for how she’s just observing, but she feels more like a guardian, or a witness. That this moment happened. That their family was irrevocably changed by shared knowledge of some unpleasants facts. That they were both strong enough to get through it.

Jake catches her eye, his own filled with tears and she’s genuinely not sure if it’s for himself, his marriage, or the pain his daughter is going through. He tilts his head, motions for her to come over. She takes a step, putting her phone away, confused. 

He tips his head towards the clear section of the bench, she settles down. He nods to Clarke, she rests a hand on her back. The effect is immediate, she feels her breath hitch under her palm, sees her shoulders relax.

“I’m going to make some calls. Will you be alright?” He’s asking both of them, head tipped towards Clarke but eyes on Lexa. She nods, Clarke peels herself away from him, then whips around to bury herself in Lexa instead. 

She catches his eye over her head, nods again. He looks at the two of them, and she thinks maybe he smiles a little, it’s hard to tell, her own eyes are swimming with sympathetic tears. She runs her hands up and down Clarke’s back while he steps away. She doesn’t listen to his call.

~*~

“Thank you,” she mutters into the large wet spot on the front of Lexa’s shirt, “for being here.”

Lexa bends to kiss the top of her head, “All you ever have to do is ask. You’re not alone. I’ll never let you be alone.”

She feels a few more fat tears slip out at that, feels the truth of it resonate deep inside. She tugs her closer, wraps her arms around her waist and takes a shuddering breath. They sit like that for a while, maybe an hour, she has no idea. But Lexa holds her close the entire time, and that’s all that matters.

Jake sits down next to them, she pulls away just enough to see him. He’s slumped forward, leaning heavily on his elbows on his knees. He’s nodding absently to himself. “Daddy?”

He looks over at her and gives her a wan smile. “Looks like it’s another few weeks in a hotel for me. At least this one has indoor plumbing.”

She snorts, she can’t help it. It’s snotty and wet and gross and her face is covered in tears and it itches where they’ve dried and he’s got tears on his face too and Lexa’s just soaked from all her crying and they’re all sat there on a bench in the middle of a park.

And it’s really not funny but once she’s snorted she starts laughing, slightly hysterical giggles, because let’s face it she’s emotionally wrung out and she’s been so _done_ with crying since before summer started so she just rolls with it.

And somehow her dad starts laughing too, light chuckles turning into stomach-clenching guffaws. And Lexa looks between them confused and concerned but soon she’s caught up in it. And none of them know why they’re laughing, not really, just that they are and that’s enough. For now, that’s enough.

They’ll think about tomorrow later. Jake will get his things from his house, he’ll find somewhere else to live. Clarke will go to college and leave her bedroom empty. Lexa will move back into her student apartment, leaving the tiny flat she’s shared with Clarke as she found it. They’ll sort it all out when it’s time. For now, they’re laughing through their tears and Lexa gives Jake a hug and he gives her a warm smile and even though the foundation of their lives has been revealed to be fractured, she thinks they’ll be alright, together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted summer to be a single story, and honestly the plot wasn't ... I didn't... I DON'T PLAN THESE THINGS. This is just where it felt _right_ to end things. 
> 
> HOWEVER
> 
> I wouldn't just _tease_ you all with the idea of college for our ladies. That's going to happen. It's just going to be its own fic. Because apparently this one was about trust and love and truth. IDK what the next one's gonna be about, but they're gonna go thru it together because they love each other and shit.
> 
> Also, Finn still needs to get punched in the nose. That's gonna happen.
> 
> Let me know what you all think of this. As a whole, as an ending, as something that practically wrote itself because I swear this chapter? This one right here? This was the MOST planned out and all I knew was the airport pickup and the crying-in-his-shirt confession. That's the planning levels. I'm rambling. 
> 
> This is the first fic I've ever considered Done. It's a complete story as it stands. That makes me happy and I want to talk about it more! If you want to talk with me ... [I'm on Tumblr](https://theplaguebeast.tumblr.com/) and I really really enjoy y'all.
> 
> I hope this touched you in some way, that you felt something. Peace!


End file.
